


Dystopia

by bunsterjonez



Series: Dystopia [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst, Blood and Violence, F/M, Love Triangles, Mind Control, Other, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2019-09-06 17:25:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16837099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunsterjonez/pseuds/bunsterjonez
Summary: OsCorp and Stark Industries joint ventures were supposed to be a beacon of prosperity for the Nation. Until Thanos took over. The inevitable resulting dystopia forced the Eight to band together and fight for survival in the midst of a decaying society. But now the Underground is in peril – from both outside forces, and the turmoil growing within. (Bucky Barnes x Reader, Matt Murdock x Reader)





	1. Chapter 1

“Look, we all know the Order’s ridiculous,” he wore a dark suit and red-tinted glasses, his slightly tousled hair catching some of the shine from the lamp in the corner. He sat behind his desk, fiddling with a pen as he spoke. “But I’m not about to ignore everyone else up here needing my help.” **  
**

The wood-paneled office must have been impressive at one point. Located just a few blocks away from Midland Circle and accessible from the local rail station – one of three that were still functioning in the area – there was plenty of foot-traffic, and probably had boasted the company of flower boutiques and shoe repair shops once upon a time.

But now the office looked somewhat bare, and maintenance had been lacking. The battered blinds over the windows were missing a few pieces, allowing you a view of a massive crowd outside, chants and signs against the new health union rules in hand, marching towards Stark Tower in droves. The few that still had energy and funds left to protest nowadays were just a paycheck away from ending up in the Wastelands. There would come a time when they’d be forced to make a choice: lay down their signs and obey Thanos’ Triad, or take their chances outside his realm. Which was only growing in reach every day.

The Restrictive Order had already claimed three other nations seeking Independence, and they were preparing to re-draft it with amendments to destabilize the Underground, limiting your visits Up Above and denying diplomatic aid requests in the future… including the recruitment of citizens from Midland Circle to your cause.

Which is what had brought you and Skye, the newest, but very capable member of the Scavenger Corps, to the Law Offices of Matt Murdock that night. His work had been impressive in the past few years; it had been his efforts that had delayed the health unions disputes this long, and he had managed to avoid being disbarred by Thanos’ lawyers… so far. He still had plenty left to lose, and the Underground had everything to gain by adding him to their ranks.

“We’d believe you if there _was_ ‘anyone else’ willing to retain you at this point, Mr. Murdock,” Skye said evenly.

“You know as well as we do that those still in a position to retain a lawyer would rather not make accommodations for you if they can help it,” you quipped as Matt sighed. “Not in this climate. You’re simply too… different, for them.”

“Which is lucky; we’re always looking for different,” Skye added.

“I leave this office, I’m giving up,” his glasses didn’t let you see his eyes too clearly, but you suspected he’d narrowed them. “They win.”

You snorted. “They’re already winning, Mr. Murdock. That’s why we’re here.” If you hadn’t known he couldn’t see you, the way he sharply turned his head in your direction would have unnerved you, but you kept your smirk in place. “You know they’re coming for you next. Lawyer of the Downtrodden. How many bogus evictions have you had to contest in the past 6 months?”

From the lack of his response, Steve’s intel hadn’t failed you.

“Not to mention you’ve already been kicked out of your home by that greedy landlord of yours–”

“Ok, I get the hint,” he muttered, cutting Skye off. You could practically smell the conflict brewing in his mind. He was stubborn, granted, but not stupid. He’d been doing this job for a long time, but even he had to admit, it was getting harder and harder to go against these moguls in his position. What could one lawyer do against a system built against him?

But the Underground… you had been the only ones who’d persevered, the last Nation left standing. You were obviously doing something right. And if joining up with you was the last choice left to him…

Matt had never been one to back down from a fight. Maybe this was the move he needed to make to turn this war around.

“It’s not giving up, Mr. Murdock,” you spoke up, bringing him back to the present. His head tilted at your words; you’d said these words a lot of times, he gathered, probably to yourself. And he wouldn’t have been wrong. “Would it help if we called it ‘re-strategizing’?” He chuckled, a slight amused smile on his lips, and you couldn’t help but mirror his expression.

“The long game?” he replied. “What makes you think you can win? Hiding underground, ignoring everyone else?”

“If you mean everyone else that doesn’t stand a chance,” Skye chimed in, bored with the debate already. “We work hard _every single day_ , and any one of those people out _there_ ,” she pointed at the marching horde outside, you scowling at her as she seemed to forget for a second that he couldn’t see her gesture, “would sell us out for an easier way in a second.”

“We survive, Mr. Murdock,” you said simply, addressing him again. “That _is_ the long game. And I think you know you have a better chance at a play if you join us.”

He took a deep breath, calculating, as per usual. But the equation would always turn out the same.

“If I help you – _if_ – I have demands.”

“Understandable,” you stood up, Skye following your lead. “So do we.”

“First off,” he said, standing up as well, and extending his hand out to you with a tight smile, “you call me Matt.”

***

“Well?” Steve was waiting for you at the main Atrium when you and Skye made your way back Underground.

“He’s in, no problem,” Skye shrugged as she walked towards the cafe at the far end. The Atrium was a large circular open space; a place where everyone could relax, eat, rest… and flirt, in Skye’s case, as she sauntered over to a smiling Ward at the counter.

“Well, not so much a problem as… an inconvenience,” you stopped at Steve’s side, who was standing, arms crossed, surveying the new militia trainees as they milled around the Atrium during their break.

The tall broad-shouldered blond arched an eyebrow at your words. “Says he needs his assistant, Something Nelson, to come with him. So, now we’re not only smuggling one blind man across the bridge, but his sidekick too,” you sulked, also folding your arms.

Steve’s forehead knotted as he thought it over. “It may not be such a bad idea,” he said, while you shot him an exasperated look. “We don’t really have anyone to spare for babysitting, and he must know enough about the trade to take over if anything were to happen to Murdock. Not that it would,” he finished as an afterthought.

You frowned. “Fair point. Then again, you’re not the one having to drag them all the way over here from Midland Circle.”

He smiled amused. “What, too much of a challenge for you?”

“As if,” you jokingly punched him in the arm as he walked away from you with a laugh. “But you get to tell Peggy we need to set up two bunks instead of one!” You called after him, smirking as his shoulders tightened slightly. If Steve was wary of overusing the Underground’s resources, Peggy was worse.

Just then, a commotion behind you caught both of your attentions, and you heard the unmistakable grave voice of Natasha calling your name.

You turned to see her, arm around Clint’s waist, as he hobbled next to her. “Get a stretcher!” you shouted at the sentry guards, and they quickly obeyed, Steve now at your side, having ordered the trainees to take point.

He relieved Nat from Clint’s weight, keeping him upright, while another guard took his and Nat’s weapons away for storage. “What the hell happened?”

“CINDYs,” Clint grimaced, clutching at his leg; you could see a large gash, oozing blood, and plenty of sharp-looking shrapnel stuck around it.

Another Osborn and Stark collaboration turned abomination; the Clinical Immunization And Diagnostics remote bots (Stark got cute with the acronym) used to roam the streets providing emergency medical treatment, free of charge to those who couldn’t afford clinic fees. The geniuses had freely distributed open source schematics too, so the “scientists of the future” could help them build and program their own. It didn’t take long before the bots had been ransacked and repurposed for worse things than just healthcare.

“Fuck,” you stood back as the sentries set up the stretcher and Steve helped Clint onto it with a grunt.  
  
“They crowded us right as we got to the bunker’s edge,” Nat said, as they rushed to immobilize Clint’s leg. “We were trying to get to higher ground when…”

“It’s not as bad as it looks– OW!” Clint exclaimed as he was ushered off to the medical wing.

“I’ll notify Fury. Y/N, you got this?” You nodded at Steve as he quickly rounded up the trainees from the Atrium and led them away; the citizens already talking amongst themselves about the scene they’d just witnessed.

You noticed Nat’s worried expression as she watched Clint disappear down the hall. “Nat, he’ll be fine.” You put a comforting hand on your friend’s shoulder, and she sighed, letting out what you assumed was a long-held breath.

“Y/N,” she looked straight into your eyes. “If Bucky hadn’t shown up…”

Now it was your breath that stilled, and you were momentarily grateful she had waited until Steve was out of earshot before she’d said any more. “What–?”

“He saved us,” Nat continued. “He and a few more, probably from Freight Village.” She bit her lip, as you attempted to process her words. This was the first time anyone from your company had seen him in months, not since he’d left.

“Did…um…what,” you stammered. _Damn it._ “Did, uh, did he say…something? Anything?”  
  
“No,” the redhead shook her head, regarding you with a regretful expression. Nat wished she could give you more, knew that only hearing his name was eating you up inside. Apart from the random transmissions he occasionally pinged your way, you’d had no contact at all since he’d up and disappeared from your life. “D’you think… Steve–”  
  
“Not a word of this to Steve,” you snapped at her. “You got away, that’s all that matters. Got it?”  
  
Natasha nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving yours.

“Make sure Clint keeps his mouth shut. And tell Claire and Wanda I want an analysis on that shrapnel, asap.”

You turned away from her without a second glance and walked towards your lab, closing the door behind you once you made sure it was empty. Leaning back against the door, you hugged yourself, sinking down lower and lower to the ground.

_Bucky._

Had he been recruiting people out there? If what Nat said was true… then maybe he hadn’t been wrong about the people Up Above after all. Had Steve made the wrong call?

You shook your head vigorously, trying to rid yourself from your treasonous thoughts. No. _He_ left _you_. All of you. So what if he managed to round up three or four people? Trying out the Underground’s tactics up there wasn’t going to work out, you knew that. Besides, the most they were doing was apparently chasing CINDYs off your turf, and not much else.

_It’s the least he could do_ , you thought furiously. And yet, you couldn’t help but feel thankful to him for coming to Nat and Clint’s rescue.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that even though he was out of your life, he still managed to linger inside your mind. That even though he had hurt both you and Steve, he was evidently still the same impossibly compassionate person you had fallen for. That he was still looking out for the Underground and its people. Was he looking out for you, too?

A knock behind you startled you out of your miserable thoughts, and you jumped up to answer it, desperate for the distraction. The warm brown eyes of Peggy Carter looked back at yours, her trusty tablet in hand, and a sternful frown on her face. “Steve told me we’d be welcoming two new citizens instead of one this week,” she said, a hint of disapproval in her voice. “So I wanted to process their requisitions ahead of time, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure,” you said, forcing a smile on your face and opening the door wider for her to enter. “Um, let me just switch this on.” You headed to your console, and fumbled a bit with the controls, your mind still wandering dangerously outside the Underground’s walls.

“Are you ok?” Peggy asked, a softer tone this time.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you glanced her way for a second, your forced smile still in place, hoping she’d let it go. You weren’t sure if you’d be able to lie to her about this.

“I heard about Clint.” You froze. “But it seems there’s no serious harm done to him, he was lucky Natasha has quick reflexes.” You exhaled in relief, as Peggy rushed through her words, no doubt thinking she was alleviating your worries about Clint’s well-being. But it was Natasha you were silently praising; you knew just how quick-thinking she was. In fact, you counted on it.

“Yeah,” you said absentmindedly, finally pulling up the barracks schematics for Peggy, and sitting down to work on programming two new scanning chips for the lawyer and his friend. “Lucky.”


	2. Chapter 2

“This is not a good idea,” Foggy was pacing frantically up and down the office, while Matt quietly packed his bags. “We could get caught. We could get killed!”

You had agreed to giving them two nights before extraction, plenty of time for Matt and Foggy to prepare and tie up loose ends. With Stark’s lawyers on their backs, it was a safe bet that Thanos was aware of the Underground’s visit, and a sudden disappearance was bound to attract unwanted attention. Thanos had spies everywhere, and the Underground weren’t the only ones recruiting, after all.

Foggy was already agitated due to a “Stark Industries representative” cornering him in an alley on his way to work the day before. Which is why Matt hadn’t shared details of their escape plan until the day of. The less Foggy knew, the better. At least, Matt thought so, an amused smile on his face as his friend drove himself into a stressed out frenzy. “You know, if you want to be a lawyer, you’re gonna need to work on the whole ‘cool under pressure’ thing, Foggy.”

“This is _beyond_ under pressure, Matt!” the blond stopped pacing, his arms waving around in exasperation. “I can’t believe you roped me into this.”

“Come on, you know I need you with me. There’s no way I can do this alone.”

“We both know you’re more than capable of doing things on your own,” Foggy shot him an obvious look. “Matt, you realize what this means? We have to leave everything behind… forget everyone. We can’t turn back from this.”

Mat sighed. He didn’t really have anyone left except for Foggy. Karen had gone into hiding months ago, and Father Lantom had been lost to the Wastelands not long after that. The prospect of not being able to find them, or even look for them again was grim, even he had to admit that.

“The Underground has plenty of resources,” he said, his words weighted, and Foggy had the suspicion that Matt was trying to convince himself more than anyone else. “Resources we’re seriously lacking. Who knows, we might end up seeing Karen or Lantom down there at some point.” He zipped up his bag, a sort of finality in the gesture. “We’ve got a better chance of that than we do up here.”  
  
“Says who?” Foggy countered incredulously. “Them? Of course they’ll tell you anything, just to get you to join them.”

“Fog, you know me,” Matt said, in an effort to calm his partner down. “I wouldn’t be doing this is it wasn’t a sure thing. And I wouldn’t be asking you to come with me just to put you in harm’s way.” He wished he could explain to Foggy about your meeting… about you. Sure, you had been persuasive, but it wasn’t as though he had been easily swayed to take your word at face value.

_We survive, Mr. Murdock. That is the long game._

It was the way you had said those words to him two nights ago that made him think there was something left to fight for. That there was a chance to bring about the change he and Foggy had wanted to leave as their mark on the world. It was blunt in its essence, but he believed you: he needed you as much as you needed him.

But before he could even begin to articulate any of this to his friend, he tilted his head slightly as he sensed rather than heard light footsteps; so quiet he might have missed them completely under other circumstances. “Speaking of which,” he said, picking up his bag. “You might want to grab your things.”

A single knock at the door made Foggy jump. “Stark?” He asked Matt warily.

“Nope,” Matt rearranged his red shades on his face and grabbed his walking stick, which was leaning against his cleaned out desk.

Foggy swung the door open to find you and Natasha, dressed in dark tactical gear and armed to the nines. You stood there for a minute, while Foggy took in the sight of the two of you, not moving a muscle.

Matt held back a chuckle, when you finally let out an impatient sigh, “We just gonna stare at each other all night, or what?”

***

Under cover of darkness, the slight violet tint of the polluted sky above you, you’d instructed Matt and Foggy to stay close to you, with Natasha bringing up the rear. The route East of Freight Village was the safest one, the dilapidated cars encircled by chain-link fences guiding your way. Going through the Wastelands would be a bad call tonight, especially with the burden of two untrained men in tow.

It was quiet, save for the distant sound of a revelry further within the village. The noise was bound to mask your footsteps on the cracked concrete, and you silently thanked whomever was responsible for the villagers’ distraction. It didn’t take long before you spied the landmark broken archway that would lead you through the final trek of your journey, straight to the bunker’s entrance into the Underground.

You were about to whisper to Matt to step lightly over a crater on the ground when–

“Awful big rush, aren’t you?”

You might have thought a sword had pierced you straight to the heart, holding you in place. Matt skidded to a stop as you froze, your arm suddenly letting go of his as you recognized the gruff voice coming from the shadows somewhere above you.

A torrential wave ran through your bloodstream. Pain, grief, and disbelief swirled within you, as your mind fought against your heart. _The mission_ , it reminded you. You had to get Matt and Foggy back home. Flipping that detachment switch had become second nature, but it was way harder to do out here with the source of your anguish nearby than within the safety of the Underground’s walls.

Nowhere to run or hide… so you stood your ground. It was the only thing you could do right now. “This is none of your business, Buck,” you called out into the night.

“Nah, I don’t think so.” the shadowy figure of Bucky Barnes jumped off from a platform a few feet from the ground, landing catlike in front of you, and standing up straight, blocking your path. “You passing by here is my business.”

You held his gaze, the blue eyes that had once been filled with hope at the possibilities of the Underground, now marred with nothing but mistakes, anger, and regret. He’d repurposed his gear; now wearing enhanced armor and carrying equally upgraded weapons. You were sure he was packing more; hidden from view under the large leathered wrap that covered his broad frame from the elements.

“I already had to save her ass once,” he gestured towards Natasha with a curt nod, who scowled back at him. “You got a death wish, too?”

“I don’t think you want to have this conversation right now,” you said fiercely, your eyes narrowing by the second. “Need I remind you who ran away when things got tough?”

“Talk away,” he said, taking a few steps closer. “Coast is clear, I made sure of that.” The lack of obstacles during your journey suddenly made sense. So he _was_ helping you… but why now?

Your time was too short to dwell on it, though. “We don’t have time for this,” you hissed at him, your anger compensating for the lack of answers you would undoubtedly receive tonight.

“Then make time,” he said, his roguish smirk unnerving you, rather than annoying you now. “Dawnbreak. Freight 453, they’ll let you through. Give you more than enough to finish your little… errand,” he finished, shooting a withering look at Matt.

“Get out of my way,” you glared, pushing your way past him and dragging Matt along, Natasha bringing up Foggy close behind you.

“Don’t keep me waiting, darlin’,” he called out to you, as you disappeared into the night.

“That a friend of yours, or what?” Matt inquired, as you led him through a dark passageway between rows of ramshackle freight structures.

“Or what,” you muttered, looking cautiously behind you, only to find that Bucky had vanished.

***

“Through here,” you whispered, pulling at Matt’s arm leading him towards a barrier made up of shattered stone and brick structures. Almost there, you thought to yourself, finally relieving yourself from the anxiety of your impromptu meeting with Bucky.

But a whirring sound behind you made you push Matt forward towards cover as you turned sharply, rifle out instantly.

A crowd of CINDYs, no less than seven total, crudely modified with rotary saw pieces, makeshift shivs, and what you suspected were shock blasters embedded in their circuitry, were closing in. Natasha had mirrored your movements, crouching down to cover you from low fire.

You gauged your odds. If worse came to worst, Matt and Foggy could make it inside while you and Natasha covered them; they’d been outfitted with their scanner chips already. You’d be able to incapacitate three at most within seconds, while Natasha taking another three, and evade fire form the seventh… unless…

“Fresh meat…” a hissing drawl seemed to emanate from a large shadow to your right, shrinking down to normal as the unmistakable form of Eddie Brock materialized by his robotic army.

“Hey Eddie,” you said, your rifle steady on him now, Natasha’s eyes scanning the bots as they closed their ranks. “Mind talking your friends down? We got places to be.”

His laughter seemed to come from deep within his gut, that guttural hiss that seemed to ooze from his whole body. Eddie had been Up Above for too long, making him susceptible to any and all sorts of viruses and mutations from exposure. They called him Venom up here, but you weren’t one to cater to his whims. 

“Funny, always funny,” his slow strut towards you was more of a slither, a dark glow blurring his edges. Not waiting for him to reach you, you opened fire, Natasha mimicking you, as you shouted at Matt and Foggy behind you “Get inside, now!”

You rolled away as a large black tentacle tried to grab your ankle, shooting at Eddie’s arm; his right leg was already bleeding. That stupid parasite of his was enough of a hindrance by itself, never mind the crowd of CINDYs Natasha was trying to hold back on her own. Another body roll to evade Eddie’s long reaching attacks let you aim directly through his chest, the bullet hitting a bot right behind him, making it crash against a second bot like a domino chain.

_“Stop, please, you are in grave distress…”_ the old voice box recordings came out distorted, giving the robot a slightly possessed demeanor.

“God, you couldn’t even deactivate the voice boxes, Eddie?” you groaned, aiming your rifle and disabling the squealing bot with quick shots straight at the center processors. The man had less than basic programming skills, you were surprised he’d managed to gather this many bots on his own.

“Venom!” he growled, bleeding a few feet away from you. You spied another black slimy limb grab pieces of broken CINDYs off the floor, aiming at both Natasha and the top of Foggy’s head that was peeking from over a barrier.

You made a dash towards Natasha, who was closer to you, cringing internally at the thought that you may not get to Foggy in time. But as you pushed her out of the way and shot the incoming debris off course, you realized you hadn’t needed to worry at all.

Matt stood in front of Foggy, hand outstretched, holding the weapon Eddie had shot in his direction, mere inches from his face.

Stunned, you stared at the sight before you. “Wha…”

Matt shrugged. “Ok, so maybe I’m not completely defenseless.” He threw the piece of metal straight back at its origin, hitting Eddie square in the head, and with a shuddering howl, he slithered away in a hurry.

Matt walked nonchalantly towards you, and held out his hand to pull you to your feet, while your mind was still struggling to process what had just happened. You looked over at Natasha; she had finished disposing of the remaining bots with a good electric surge from her gauntlets, and was now pulling them apart and gathering up parts in scavenging nets. “Waste not, want not,” she said, dropping one of the nets in front of Foggy’s shaking form.

You turned back to Matt, a look of wonder on your face, as he extended his walking stick again and brushed dust off his clothes as though nothing more than a slight breeze had passed by.

“Any more surprises?” you asked suspiciously, as you led your group into the bowels of the bunker.

“Plenty of time for that later,” he replied, a knowing smile on his face, as you stopped at a hydraulic watertight door; the entrance home.

Against your better judgement, you couldn’t help but smile back at him, before you opened up the door and descended into the Underground.


	3. Chapter 3

Peggy, Steve, Sam and Clint were waiting at the mouth of the Atrium, once you and your guests had cleared security. “Mr. Murdock, Mr. Nelson,” Peggy spoke briskly. “Welcome to The Underground. I trust you are unharmed and in adequate condition?” **  
**

“More than you know,” Natasha muttered to you under her breath, and you stifled a laugh.

Matt’s mouth curled up in a smile, and the impossible thought that he had heard her from where he stood made you sober up more than Steve’s stern look did. 

However, Peggy continued without missing a beat. “I can arrange for a visit to our Medical Bay if you need assistance, and if you require additional accommodations–”

“We’re in perfect condition, thanks to your capable agents. Ms. Carter, is it?” he cut her off, but with that rare softness in his voice that you recognized form your first meeting.

Peggy looked slightly taken aback at the interruption, but graciously shook the hand Matt extended towards her, Foggy quickly following suit. “Matt and I don’t really require anything, except maybe an office to work in, Ma’am.”

“Peggy,” she replied, a polite smile now crossing her features, “and we can certainly arrange for that.” Offering quick introductions for Steve, Sam, and Clint, she added, “If you’ll follow us, there are just a few more details to take care of before you settle in…” she and Sam led them away from the group while Natasha, who had already been cornered by Steve, kept shooting rather guilty glances over at you.

But before you had any time to do more than shoot her an inquisitive look, Clint inched himself closer to you, leaning on his crutches as you both looked after the retreating backs of Matt and Foggy. “So, our lawyer’s a little more than we bargained for?” He’d obviously been watching the security monitors and had witnessed your scuffle with Eddie, possibly with a much larger audience.

You frowned. Steve was probably getting ready to chew you out for not getting to Foggy in time, as soon as he was done berating Nat.

“No lawyer I’ve ever seen, that’s for sure,” you said, your eyes following the group as they disappeared through the tunnels.

Clint scoffed. “Probably a lucky catch.”

You snickered, “Aww, don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get a chance to get your ass kicked by a blind guy soon enough.”

“Hey!” your hand had reached out to jokingly muss up his hair before he could dodge away from you, and he hobbled off annoyed, no doubt to one of his vantage points to stalk the new arrivals.

“Be nice!” you called out after him.

“Y/N?” Steve’s voice caught your attention. He motioned for you to follow him, and you fell in step with him as you both crossed the threshold into the Atrium, an anxious silence settling in between you when you saw Natasha walk in the opposite direction, avoiding your eyes.

You glanced at Steve expectantly before he spoke again. “Nat says Bucky ambushed you en route?”

You hadn’t anticipated Nat reporting to Steve before you. To be honest, you were hoping you’d get to avoid the conversation altogether. “Ambush is… a strong word,” you said with trepidation.

“What did he want?” Steve pressed. He was trying to keep his cool, but the hint of resentment in his voice was hard to ignore.

“Look, it’s…” you stopped walking, and he turned towards you, waiting for you to gather your thoughts. “It’s probably nothing.” You tried put on a non committal expression, not wanting to betray your feelings on the matter. It was Bucky, after all.

“But…?”

“But… he wants to meet. At Dawnbreak.” Steve scoffed, lowering his head in disbelief. “Like I said, it’s probably nothing.”

But the pointed look Steve gave you told you that you weren’t being too convincing. “Just for old time’s sake, I’m sure?”

“What can I say? I’m irresistible,” you bristled, matching his sarcasm. Steve crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at you. “Look, I don’t know what he wants, but…” you hesitated; Steve’s expression remained unchanged. You exhaled, faced with no other choice but to finally tell him the truth. “Steve, he’s been helping us out. He never stopped.” Steve’s eyes widened at the revelation. “Nat and Clint wouldn’t even have made it back here the other day if it wasn’t for him.”

“And you didn’t see fit to share this with me, because?” There was a quiet fury behind the blue of his eyes now.

“Can you blame me?” you implored, not tearing your gaze from him. He scoffed irritated, turning his back on you.

You sighed. Bucky’s betrayal had cut deep, for both of you, and you knew you’d probably only made things worse. But you still couldn’t help yourself from murmuring softly, “It could be important.”

“It could be a trap.” He said, not turning around.

“It could be a million things, Steve,” you said, exasperated. “But Bucky wouldn’t sell us out, you _know_ that.”

He turned slightly, his eyes meeting yours, and you could practically feel them pleading you to reconsider. You had all been burned by Bucky when he left, but Steve knew the one he’d hurt the most had been you.

You’d dealt with it. Adapted. Moved on. Or at least that’s what you told yourself every day. That is, until today. Bucky’s pull was too great, even now, and you knew you’d need all your wits and self-control if you were going to go through this. Steve could see it, he was no idiot. But he wouldn’t be able to deny himself the same wordless hope you held on to: maybe this was it. Maybe he was finally ready to come home.

After a pause, Steve spoke again. “Be careful. No more than two hours. Tell him I’ll come looking for you myself if you’re not back by then.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, Dad,” you said jokingly as you began walking away, but he held on to your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

“Hey,” he said softly, as you turned back to him. “I don’t want to lose you out there.” _Not you too_ , the unspoken words were heard loud and clear.

“You won’t,” you reassured him. “That’s a promise.”

***

The screens around the communications lab buzzed as they continuously loaded news, tips, and analyses from Up Above, but you paid them little attention, sitting behind your desk, absently twirling a small piece of wired silicon around your fingers, lost in thought.

Even after all this time you couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of Bucky’s tracker chip, only going so far as to scrub it clean of the bloodstains and residue he’d left behind. Highly irregular; standard protocol for chips relinquished back into your possession required reprogramming. Waste not, want not, as Natasha had said. But it was the only thing left to you form a life long lost. Would he even want this back now? Would you give it back?

It seemed that every turn of the chip between your fingers kept creating questions rather than appeasing your concerns. He’d sought you out after all; he could have disrupted anyone’s mission… but it was you he’d asked to meet. After all this time, what could he possibly want to say to you?

It was far too late for sorry, and you wouldn’t accept it anyway. Steve would, without question. He would welcome him back with open arms, as stubborn as he was. And you’d be merely glad that things could go back to normal, that Steve would have his friend back and Bucky was right where he should have been all along…

The ghostly way she sneaked into your office was not unfamiliar to you, but you still tensed up when Natasha entered your eye line.

You’d known each other for years, ever since you’d helped her evade AIM security one night when you’d caught her stealing from the break rooms… not that she’d needed much help back then. She normally had no problems getting in and out of places unnoticed. But the unannounced shift changes and the mind-numbing hunger you saw in her face had betrayed her instincts. _I owe you_ , she’d said years ago, but you knew she never considered that debt repaid. You trusted her with your life. She didn’t give you much of a choice when she was able to read you like a book.

“You’re really going.” her voice was low, but you could hear the blatant tone of disapproval in the words.

“You know I have to.”

“I know you _want_ to.”

You gripped the chip slightly tighter in your fingers. As much as you tried to convince Steve that your venture Up Above was just about satisfying your curiosity, both you and Nat knew better.

“What would you do?” you asked resignedly.

Natasha crouched down, forcing you to look at her, her eyes boring into your face. “He’s not coming back,” she said bluntly. You felt white hot rage flush your face, but she didn’t give you a chance to retort. “He knows he can, at any moment he chooses. But he won’t, and as much as you or Steve want to fool yourselves, he’ll still be out there tomorrow, no matter what happens.”

You felt a wet drop fall on your hand, and it took you a moment to realize it had come from your eyes, the raw truth sinking down like a heavy boulder within you.

Nat was right. You just didn’t want to hear it, even though your brain had been practically screaming it just a second before she’d entered the room.

There was no cruelty in her words, only a warning. To be ready. To brace yourself and not to yield to whatever unresolved thread still connected you to Bucky. To not let your emotions get the best of you when you saw him again.

But you both knew you weren’t sure if you’d be able to resist.

***

It was quiet; hours past midnight according to the Underground’s large clock positioned at the far end of the Atrium. You were making your last rounds before heading Up Above, trying to push thoughts of Bucky and what awaited you once you saw him, until a quiet voice behind you interrupted the whirlwind in your mind.

“Excuse me,” you turned around to see Matt, a warm but mischievous smile on his face. “I’m new here, and I’m having a bit of trouble finding my way around.”

You couldn’t help but smile back, crossing your arms in mock annoyance. “I’ll say you are, it’s long past curfew.”

“And I’ll bet I’m nowhere near the sleeping quarters,” he bantered.

“I’d give you a map, but it wouldn't be much use to you,” you played along, mildly grateful at how at ease he was making you feel. It was a welcome cfeeling, considering your upcoming task at hand.

“How about a tour?” Matt replied. You raised an eyebrow but before you could even voice your apprehension, he continued, “I won’t exactly see much, but at least I’ll know where I’m standing.”

“Too bad, we could use someone to help with the aesthetics,” you joked, making him laugh, a warm sound that lightened your mood instantly. “Come on, then. I got some time.”

You walked in silence for a bit towards the far end of the Atrium, you sneaking glances at his profile and suddenly very aware of how lightly he seemed to step, his head sometimes leaning towards… something. Maybe a far off sound you couldn’t register? You recalled his expression during Peggy’s introductions. Based on how inexplicable the events from earlier tonight had been, Matt Murdock having super-hearing abilities didn’t seem so impossible anymore.

“So… you work out?” you said, internally cringing at the lame joke.

But he let out a small laugh. “I don’t like to brag,” he said playfully, making the corners of your mouth curl up in turn.

“Do you mind if I ask how…?”

“Ah, car accident,” he said, somewhat dismissively, and you wondered briefly if he didn’t like to talk about it. “Chemical burns. Gross mess. So they tell me,” he elaborated, again with that warm smile he seemed to keep permanently fixed on his face. A sad thought crossed your mind: he needed to keep things light around him, in the midst of the darkness he had to live with.

You could relate. Living underground for years took its toll on people, and you carried their toll more often than you supposed was healthy.

“So, how did you do that back there?” you asked, slightly awed. Chemical burns would have severely damaged his eyes; he wouldn’t be able to see a sliver of light, much less a piece of metal headed in his direction.

“It’s, uh, complicated.” You noticed he didn’t have any trouble keeping up with your steady pace, and just then he sidestepped a pillar without you even giving him a warning.

You narrowed your eyes at him, pausing your stride, and folding your arms you fixed him with a beady look and a slight smirk. “What are you, Batman?”

“Ha ha,” he turned to face you. “Nah, I’m… just a lawyer. I got beat up a lot growing up. Figured I should do something about that.”

“You sound like Steve,” you said, resuming your pace. “He doesn’t like bullies.”

“Wish I’d had him around back then,” he replied good-naturedly, but then his expression changed, his brow furrowed, disconcerted with something. “That humming’s getting stronger, where are we?”

You’d reached the center reactors, the beating heart of the Underground, as it were. It diverted energy and electricity to the sectors where and when it was needed; currently the only ones plugged in to their respective hubs were the Comms lab, and the barracks for ventilation.

“It’s what powers the Underground. Sam, Steve, and I had a hand in putting it together,” you said, leaning against the barrier that enclosed the reactors and feeling the buzzing of energy vibrating through your entire body. “Come here,” you said, extending your hand towards Matt.

He walked straight towards you, stopping close enough that you could see his eyes from behind his glasses, and you were startled to realize that they were somehow fixed right on yours. His hand was warm, calloused and rough. Bringing it up to the barrier, you held it in place with your own. “You feel that?” you asked softly, your eyes still scanning his.

He brought his other hand up to your face, and you tensed up for a second, but he only lightly brushed a strand of your hair back. “Yeah,” he replied. “I feel it.”

Time seemed to stop for a few seconds, until you finally cleared your throat and let go of his hand.

“I should go,” you said, anxiously sticking your hands in your pockets.

“Oh right. Your ‘or what’, from earlier?” Matt tilted his head towards you as you hesitantly stepped away from him. “He seemed friendly.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips. _Funny_. “Yeah, he’s… “

“Complicated. I get it.”

You wrinkled your forehead, amused. “You’re very perceptive, anyone ever tell you that?”

“You mean, for a blind guy?” He said with mock indignation.

“I didn’t say that!” you exclaimed, barely able to contain your laughter now.

“Well, you can add that to the list of surprises I haven’t shared yet,” he replied lightly, as you began to walk away.

“You’re gonna need that sense of humor down here, Murdock,” you called back to him as you disappeared, unaware that he could still hear your quiet laughs on your way back.


	4. Chapter 4

The stillness in Freight Village was always at its peak right before Dawnbreak. The occasional lone melancholic citizen would pop out of their freights once in awhile in time to view the spectacle: the purple-tinged hue of the polluted night sky would blend in with the fire red of the new Sunrise, and the shadows from the rampant atmospheric debris combusting all around the Earth would litter the sky with short burst fireworks, like sparkling stars in the morning sky. The younger kids thought it romantic. Bucky supposed it would be, if it wasn’t a constant reminder about how irredeemably the world had gone to hell. **  
**

“You sure she’s comin’?” Brock said, emerging from behind a curtain, the makeshift divider sectioning off a back storage room in his freight. The cars in Freight Village were all connected; a labyrinthian network that allowed people to come and go safely within its area limits. Bucky had helped in its construction and continuous upgrades; it wasn’t very long ago that people weren’t able to utilize the higher and lower levels of freights, leaving them to double up with others, or brave the elements by sleeping outside. Every day more and more cars were connected, more citizens willing to give of what little they had for their neighbors. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“She’ll be here,” Bucky muttered, grabbing the bottle Brock placed in front of him. _God, please be here_ , he couldn’t help but desperately think to himself as he took in the orange-colored swill, heat and spice coating his throat as he did so, making him blanch. Brock fancied himself a ‘brewer”, his concoctions usually doing the trick in terms of the relaxing stupor that somewhat eased the cold nights and harsh days, but sorely lacking in ingredients and taste.

Unfortunately, all the burning liquid was doing now was reminding him of how much of an idiot he had been. Was being. Bucky couldn’t help but get angrier and angrier at himself every time he saw you, but that was his own burden to bear. He shouldn’t have cornered you like that in the middle of a run, he knew that. He’d kept his distance up til now, knowing that facing up to you meant facing up to the biggest mistake he’d ever made in his life. He had never been good at that.

But if he was going to stand by what he’d done, for the good of the people Up Above, he had to stop being a coward, hiding in the shadows, content with the mere hope that you would pick up on his meager attempts to let you know he still cared. The fury in your eyes last night told him everything he needed to know: he’d fucked up. All he could do right now was try to make amends, and hope you would listen. This was too important, and he had to tell someone.

Bucky didn’t realize he was holding his breath until Brock cleared his throat. “Well, when you’re right, you’re right.” Bucky looked up at him, and followed his stern gaze towards the entrance of the car, where you stood, framed in the glow of the breaking sky.

***

**_THEN_ **

_“It makes no sense to train the scavenger corps along with the rest of the militia, it just means more people to supervise and not enough one-on-one focus,” you argued._

_“If the point is to handpick the best out of both groups, it makes perfect sense,” Bucky replied testily. “There’s no point for one-on-one training if the new recruits aren’t being held to the same standard as the others, and it’ll make weeding out the ones who won’t cut it way easier.”_

_“We’re stretched out thin as it is, why would you even bring this up now?” you said dismissively, and he frowned in response. That fiery blazing look he reserved for the times he couldn’t bring himself to articulate the words he wanted to say. You’d always said that he rarely needed to speak, his eyes always said it all._

_“All right,” Sam intervened, “if you’re gonna fight, take it to the mats, I don’t want you two breaking anything out here,” he ushered you two towards the training complex._

_“We’re not fighting, just tell him how wrong he is, Sam” you exclaimed, his strong hands pushing on your back as you crossed the threshold into the room, Bucky being dragged along with his other hand as he sputtered angrily._  
  


_“I’m not wrong! Steve,” he noticed the blond backing away from the door after your trio almost collided with him, a startled look on his face that quickly turned into exasperation. “Steve, tell her she’s just being stubborn, you know I’m right.”_

_“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” you growled. “You’re the one that’s being unreasonable.”_

_Sam just shook his head and muttered to Steve, “This is not my mess,” and walked away as briskly as he could._

_Steve looked between you and Bucky, now staring each other down from opposite ends of the room, breathing heavily, two hotheads about to explode._

_With a defeated sigh, he said, “You two are terrible at keeping a low profile, you know that?” and with that, he closed the door behind him, leaving the two of you alone._

_You glowered at Bucky, and he glowered right back. But after a few seconds, your face broke into a broad smile, and with a giggle, you ran and jumped into Bucky’s waiting arms, his grinning lips ready to receive yours crashing into his, letting out a soft throaty moan._

_“He’s right,” Bucky mumbled against your lips, not letting go of you for a second. “You suck at the whole deception thing.”_

_“Shows how much you know,” you said, not giving up your relentless onslaught of kisses on his face. “Been fooling you all this time, haven’t I?”_

_He pulled his face back, a quick look of shock on his face, until your mischievous grin at his reaction made him burst out laughing, realizing you were kidding._

_“Got you,” you murmured, your eyes taking in the electric blue of his, your body feeling how strong his arms were around you, your fingers tracing the outline of his sharp jaw, his tracing circles in your lower back._

_“Yeah,” he whispered, leaning in towards you again. “You got me.”_

_It was always so fiery, wild, energy-fueled. The world was on fire, but nothing mattered as long as he was near you, his body moving in sync with yours, a torrent of passion building within and consuming you both. It was too early for the two of you to know that one day it would all burn up into ashes._

***

**_NOW_ **

“Hope you didn’t make me come down here for a drink,” you said, eyeing the dirty bottle in front of Bucky and taking in his slumped form.

The light shining from behind you cast your elongated shadow towards his seat. Bucky squinted slightly at you, the glare of Dawnbreak illuminating his features. Scars and weathered skin, long matted dark hair, pulled back in a messy half-knot, his hands calloused and dry.

 _Bet they’re still warm._ You pushed the uninvited thought out of your mind.

“Got a problem with my brews?” Brock gruffed out as you made your way inside and pulled up a stool next to Bucky. He’d gone back to staring at the bottle, avoiding your gaze.

“I’d rather not burn a hole through my tongue right now, thanks,” you retorted, eyes wandering back to Bucky’s hunched over form. “Not what I’m here for, anyway.”

Brock huffed annoyed, but Bucky jerked his head, gesturing for the man to leave them alone. With a last disapproving tut, Brock disappeared through the curtain.

A deep silence fell over you, broken only by the odd sound of creaking metal as early risers began their day.

You hated it up here. The air was rank with disease and death, and the hopelessness was palpable, drifting throughout every corner of the village in the most terrifying way. But defying every rational thought you had, here Bucky was.

You thought you’d forgotten it; compartmentalized the sense of home he always enveloped you in; a force field far more powerful than the steel and limestone walls of the Underground. It was all coming back from the moment you sat down next to him.

Not able to stand the silence any longer you spoke up… unfortunately he had the exact same idea.

“What is this, Buck?” – “Y/N, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?!” – “I’m trying to apologize!”

“Apologize for what exactly?” – “If you would just let me get a word in..”

You shut your eyes, inhaled deeply, holding back a frustrated scream. He always did manage to get under your skin.

Your hands clenched against your face, you heard him sigh next to you. “What am I doing here, Bucky?” you said as softly as you could muster your voice. “I don’t have a lot of time.”

You chanced another glance at him, hoping – no – _needing_ him to cut to the chase. The longer you were near him, the more you were at risk of losing control of yourself.

Bucky nodded a couple of times, mostly to himself, resignedly coming to terms with the fact that you hadn’t come here for apologies or closure. Besides, there was in fact something far more pressing that he needed to show you.

“All right,” he said, finally looking you in the eye, that familiar determined gaze that always seemed to paralyze you, even now. “Follow me.”

***

Bucky led you to a short stretch of land, a few yards away, strangely barren of anything except dirt, small landmarks made of stones marked a winding path. A gravesite, you realized, spying symbols and artificial baubles placed carefully by some of the rocks.

You felt shivers down your spine. Death was everywhere here. It was easy to forget that for every one person that died in the Underground, hundreds more were dying Up Above.

Bucky slowed to a stop, and you tore your eyes from a significantly small-looking grave to follow his gaze.

“Friend of yours?” you said, eyeing the gravestone now at your feet.

“Uh, sort of.” he said, a somber look crossing his face now. “Ben helped me build that large cross section by the entrance of the village.”

“Sorry,” you muttered, slightly embarrassed. You wore your detachment as necessary armor, but it wasn’t your intention to be insensitive.

“It’s not so much the fact he died, it’s… how it came about.” His featured darkened as he walked to the grave next to it; a woman’s name carved on stone. You spied two smaller graves next to them. Your heart clenched inside your chest; you didn’t like where this was going.

“About two months ago, Ben vanished outside the Village limits. Figured he got lost in the Wastelands and the Carvers claimed him… until he wandered in here three nights ago, crazed out of his wits, screaming for his kids.”

You glanced at the two smaller mounds of dirt next to him. They weren’t fresh. Not like the bigger ones. Your sense of foreboding increased at Bucky’s morose expression. 

He continued, “He’d buried them himself long before he disappeared. He didn’t remember. It took five shots of Brock’s red mulled wine to get him to calm down.”

“Don’t tell me that’s what did him in?”

Bucky shook his head miserably. “We… we heard pounding, that night. Before Dawnbreak… He had a hammer in his hand, and his wife…”

You looked sharply at the second fresh grave on the ground. “Oh god…”

“It was like he was in a trance, Y/N” Bucky looked at you, his eyes shining with unshed tears, the horrible memory still vibrant in his head. It took everything you had to not reach out and place a comforting hand on his cheek. “She was dead long before we got there, but he just… wouldn’t stop. We had to take him out.”

He fell silent, taking a shaky breath as he gathered himself enough to go on, and you looked back at the grave, a horrified expression clouding your face. Why was he telling you all this?

As though reading your thoughts, he spoke again, “We took him to a retired surgeon up on the top levels. He found this embedded in his brain.” He reached inside his coat, and took out a small silicon implant, not unlike the one he’d left behind back home, but this one with much more complex circuitry than you were familiar with.

“I’m guessing he didn’t put that in himself?” you couldn’t help yourself at this point. Between the mess of emotions this meeting was making you feel and the story he was telling you, you were having a hard time holding on to your own sanity.

“Come on, Y/N,” he said, a tinge of annoyance at your sarcasm seeping through. “He’s gone for weeks and comes back with missing memories and murderous intent? This thing was messing with his head in a bad way.” He took a deep breath as he brandished the chip in front of you, but you already knew what he was about to say. “This has Stark and Osborn written all over it.”

“You don’t know that,” you said incredulously. Whether you were just being contrarian by habit, or just in blatant denial, you weren’t sure. “Even Eddie Brock is capable of hacking fucking CINDYs, what makes you think–”

“Y/N, they kidnapped one of our own, and sent him back here to test whatever they’re working on, don’t you get it?” You held your breath; he was standing too close to you now, his scent breaking through the decay that permeated the land up here, your resolve to just turn around and leave dwindling by the second. “Take this back to Scott. He’s the nanotech genius, he’ll tell you I’m right.”

His suspicion wasn’t unfounded, you already knew it. You’d been scouring the rumors and whispers about Stark and Osborn for days now. Disappearances like Bucky’s friend weren’t unusual, but this was the first you’d heard of anyone coming back. If they really were experimenting on citizens and setting them loose… the timetable had been accelerated. And that meant everyone was in danger. Including the Underground.

You sighed for what seemed like the millionth time today. Taking the chip from him, you weren’t altogether surprised to realize you had been right. His hand _was_ warm.

Your fingers lingered on Bucky’s for a few seconds, needing that aching familiarity in the midst of the coldness that seemed everlasting, even as the sky burned above. When you finally pulled your hand away, your tired eyes found his. The pleading look he had worn now resembled something like hopeful relief.

“I think I’ll take that drink now,” you said helplessly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit more Bucky x Reader dynamic; I felt it was necessary to continue setting up the relationship they had/have. --BJ

Bucky led you through the winding freight tunnels, after swiping a couple of bottles from Brock’s stores on the way, finally reaching what you surmised were his personal quarters. The space was significantly isolated from the rest of the cars. A makeshift bed out of half a mattress and some surprisingly clean-looking blankets and rags occupied a far corner. There was a functioning communications array opposite the bed, the source of his data transmissions. You’d taught him enough for him to be able to put it all together, it seemed. **  
**

A few broken down appliances were strewn on a workbench next to it, most in varying states of disrepair, others just broken apart in pieces. You spied an old traffic security camera, wires splayed out, connected to a static-filled monitor.

“Need some help with that?” you asked, gesturing towards it.

“Be my guest,” he said, popping the cap off one of the bottles and pouring out the contents, handing you a chipped cup. “Been trying to get a feed running for days, but I’m no expert.”

“Some things never change,” you said, clinking his own cup and taking a sip. Bucky chuckled slightly as he took a seat, watching you kneel by the workbench to inspect the monitor connections.

It felt so utterly familiar; you tinkering away on a piece of equipment, his eyes always on you, memorizing every movement, every gesture, every sigh in comfortable silence. _Some things never change._

“So, this surgeon,“ you spoke up, not tearing your attention away from the workbench. “He trustworthy?”

Bucky snorted. “Nah, you’re not poaching Strange for your club downstairs,” he said, downing his shot and pouring himself another.

“I’m not poaching,” you replied, slightly defensive. “Just wondering about his qualifications. Must have done something if he ended up here.”

“Not everyone has a choice about where they end up, Y/N,” Bucky’s expression darkened slightly, the light waning outside as though in sync with his mood.

“Yeah, what do I know, right?” you scoffed. “I’m just a sheltered know-it-all down there, after all.” Did Bucky just think you were ignorant to the horrors that stretched out from the reach of Thanos’ Triad? The insinuation made your blood boil. He knew better than most how much you all had endured before you reached the Underground.

Bucky picked up on your tone, though. He sighed deeply; he didn’t want to start a fight, not now. 

“Dr. Stephen Strange,” he said finally. “Used to work at Metro-General before all the Union bullshit first started. His partner was taken by Osborn after she helped organize the first strike, she hasn’t been seen since.” 

You shook your head in morose frustration. The Union Decrees from Thanos’ were only a stepping stone to his and his cronies taking the people’s resources away. The less of a choice they had, the more they’d recruit to their cause. Were any of them anything more than hostages now? Or had they finally allowed themselves to willingly do Thanos’ bidding, stripped from any hope of rescue or redemption?

“Strange knew he had to run after Dr. Palmer disappeared,” Bucky continued. “He showed up here a few weeks after I–” he cut himself off, suddenly aware of what his next words would do to you.

“You can say it,” you said, your voice low, determinedly looking at the pieces in front of you. “After you left.”

A tense pause followed, in which you willed your anger to subside. You’d been playing your part Underground perfectly; this was nothing, you could carry on and live with the choice he made, unaffected as it were. But all pretenses aside, you’d never been able to lie to him.

“Transmitter’s busted,” you broke the silence, picking yourself up and downing the remains of your cup, hoping the liquid courage would soothe your nerves. “We have a few on reserve Underground, I can get you one.” Bucky raised an eyebrow, as you sank down on the floor across from him, gesturing for a refill. “You obviously need the security, it’s no big deal,” you shrugged, attempting to appear as non-committal as you could.

“Don’t let Steve hear you say that,” he said, topping off your drink.

You leaned back against the wall, eyes low. _Steve_. Your two hours were up already, but you couldn’t bring yourself to make the effort to leave. Not yet.

“How–” Bucky struggled to form the words, almost choking on his own drink. Clearing his throat, he tried again, but you could still hear the subtle trembling in his voice. “How’s he doing?”

***

“No, no,” you recalled, after taking another swig of a purple-like substance, smoke billowing from your cup. It smelled like cinnamon and tasted like rotting apple cores, but it only served to enhance the lightened mood after both you and Bucky had cleaned off four of Brock’s bottles. “It was Skye who put the coffee grinds in Phil’s shoes, not me.”

“Yeah, but you’re the one who offered steaming water as a solution,” Bucky said, laughter ringing in his voice.

“It still would have tasted better than the gross shit Ward was passing around back then,” you interjected, Bucky almost spitting out his drink.

“Oh _god_ , that was vile.” he said, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

“Well, he knows better now,” you smiled. “He could probably show Brock a few things.”

Bucky’s laugh came out as more of a bark, and it was your turn not to burst out laughing at the sound. “Good luck trying to teach Brock anything,” he sputtered, joining your fits of mirth at the idea. From what you knew about the guy, he was the epitome of the ‘you can’t teach an old dog new tricks’ adage.

“You’ll have to bring me some of Ward’s stuff, I’d kill for a decent cup.”

The words were spoken innocently enough, both your walls down, the old comfort setting in. But the implications of Bucky’s statement brought it all crumbling down on you. He wasn’t planning on coming back after all. A part of you already knew this, of course, but there seemed to be a finality to the matter that you couldn’t bear to process in the moment.

Bucky noticed your sudden change in demeanor, your smile vanishing from you face instantly, your brow furrowed, looking down at your drink, as though asking it for an explanation.

The hours spent reminiscing had revealed to you that it wasn’t just the fire that had burned between you that you missed. Bucky had been so much more than a lover. He had been your best friend, the one you trusted and shared everything with. Falling back into the old patterns, the comforting touches on shoulders, finishing each other’s sentences…

God, how you had missed this.

“Y/N,” interrupting your thoughts, you turned back to see him looking at you.

“Hmm?” you weren’t sure if it was the effects of Brock’s spirits, or the fact that Bucky was now impossibly close to you, having sank down next to your spot against the wall. But your face felt warm, your body light as a feather; a still burning ember at risk of dissolving against him. That mad impulse to just _touch_ him returned, fueling that long forgotten fire he always seemed to stoke within your core.

“I’m… I’m really sorry.”

And just like that, the spell was broken. You blinked rapidly, pushing away the calm haze you had inadvertently let yourself fall under, Natasha’s inescapable words seeping into your mind. He wasn’t coming back, and there wasn’t anything you could do about it.

Shaking your head and slightly panicking at your near lack of self-control, you managed a whisper, “Please don’t–”

“I know,” he cut you off. “You’re not here for an apology… and I don’t expect to be forgiven.” His earnest eyes, slightly hazed due to the liquor, same as yours, searching for the smallest hint of understanding. “I just need you to know… I screwed it all up, I know that. And I’m sorry.”

There were so many things you wanted to say; hundreds of scenarios you had rehearsed in your mind that you felt the need to blurt out. How it had taken you weeks to put Steve and you back together, the hurt that he still managed to evoke from you, how the pain never seemed to go away, especially during the lonely nights he had subjected you to endure on your own. How he could keep his apologies and live with the guilt of your misery. How much you still utterly and desperately loved him, even in spite of everything.

After a beat, the only thing you found the strength to say was, “I should get back.”

Bucky didn’t know what he was expecting, maybe a long diatribe of insults, shouting perhaps. Not this quiet, resolute reaction. Had he truly managed to destroy it all? Destroy you?

Your will to not get lost in the blue of his eyes again was crumbling. You had to get out of there before you did something you would come to regret.

“I’ll let you know what we find,” you finally said, catching your voice before it inevitably wavered, and turned away from him, heading back towards the village entrance, hugging yourself as a sharp chill hit you.

It was still there. No matter how much you’d tried to push away your feelings, just one day with him and it was all flooding back, your heart begging you to try again, even though you were desperate to finish it. You couldn’t help but feel that Bucky felt the same, your lives utterly incomplete; a forced crossroads between the two that neither of you knew how to navigate.

You looked up at the sky; it was dark again. You’d stayed too long and Steve would have your head. You were surprised there wasn’t a search party sent out for you by the time you reached the cross-section Bucky had mentioned before; the cars zig-zagging overhead, propped up by sturdy steel beams. There was no Nat or Steve in sight, but Brock was leaning against the structure, casually filing down a knife as you approached. You meant to ignore him, your thoughts swirling in a puzzled haze, but his sharp voice broke through them as you passed him.

“Don’t even think about it.”

You stopped in your tracks, turning to frown at him. “What are you talking about, Brock?”

“I know the history,” he said, fixing you with a beady stare as you put your hands on your hips, annoyed. “It took awhile for him to deal. He’s good now, good for the people here. Best if you just keep it buried, you’re pretty good at that down there.”

“What is _that_ supposed to–” but you cut off your own words as you turned your head back toward the village, the sight before you harshly extinguishing all matter of resolve you were holding on to.

Bucky standing a few yards away from one of the freights’ entrances, and a dark-haired woman leaning in for a kiss.

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. Your mind was blank, but your heart was beating faster than it should.

All you could do was watch as Bucky accepted the woman’s touch, and it was only as she disappeared into the freights, beckoning for him to follow, that he turned his head, his bright eyes unmistakably meeting yours from across the village grounds. You saw his eyes widen in surprise, but before he could do anything but stare, you quickly turned and walked briskly away from Brock.

“Message received,” you muttered, as you disappeared into the night.

***

Flying through the darkened streets on autopilot, you barely registered you’d made it back Underground, until Steve’s imposing figure, his anger making him appear larger than ever, stopped you halfway through the Atrium.

“You call that two hours?,” the silent fury in Steve’s voice was unmistakable, but you were not in the right state of mind to deal with him right now… or with anyone.

“I’m back, aren’t I?” Pushing past him, you stomped towards the Comms lab, ignoring his shouts of _“Y/N!”_ behind you.

Once you slammed the door, you let out a shuddering gasp, as a sob tried to escape your lips. You swallowed it, forcing it all the way down. Even if it made you choke, you wouldn’t let yourself be seen or heard crying over this. You’d shed enough tears for Bucky, you were done with it.

You _had_ to be.

A loud banging knock at the door let you know Steve wasn’t done with you, igniting a wrathful fire within. You wrenched the door open to find him, his outraged expression matching your own.

“I’m willing to ignore the fact that you blatantly ignored orders, I should be used to it by now,” he glowered. “But a briefing is set in the next 15 minutes, and you better make an appearance.”

“I think you’re ignoring the point of a slammed door, let me try again,” you snarled back, following through and slamming the door in his face.

You knew you were being petulant, knew that you owed Steve and the rest an explanation, that there was work to be done… but the load of emotions you’d been dragging with you all the way back from Freight Village had finally caught up with you. You could barely face up to the fact that you hadn’t been over Bucky at all as much as you pretended. How could you face up to the reality that he had moved on? That he’d actually abandoned you and carried on with his life, while you stayed here, buried underneath the guilt, the denial, the responsibility he had left behind?

It was too much, even for you. And before you knew it you were crumpled on the floor of your lab, stifling silent, incessant sobs, too lost in your own heartbreak to register the disturbances on the other side of your door.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not my favorite chapter, but that's never stopped me before! More action, more angst, and more slow burn to come, but I might go on hiatus with this until after the holidays, I have 2 challenges to complete beforehand. Thanks to all for reading, and Happy Chrismukkah and Related Holidays™! --BJ

While Foggy snoozed heavily on the other side of their quarters, the singeing atmosphere from Steve’s outburst had lingered enough to keep Matt wide awake, unable to ignore Peggy’s soothing whispers as they both walked down the adjoining corridor earlier that night **  
**

Even after curfew was in effect and the Underground was silent, it was tough for Matt to drift off to sleep. It wasn’t just the unfamiliarity of his surroundings, making the task of adapting to his new environment daunting at best. But that humming; that constant buzz of electricity that pulsated from within the Underground’s core, dug through his eardrums straight into his brain, pushing away any hope of peaceful slumber.

True, it did make him find his way around more efficiently during the daytime, the vibrations allowing him a shimmering glimpse of where he was standing, a sort of sonar map, slowly unfolding within his mind. But now, without the hustle and bustle of the citizens in motion, distracted by their daily tasks at hand, the people’s very hopes and fears were manifested into a cacophonous whirlwind that he couldn’t ignore.

It was as though he was trapped in a pressurized chamber, his senses overwhelmed to a stunning degree, uncontrollably able to hear, feel, and smell everything as though it was right in front of him.

He had been used to his isolation back in the city; its sounds, tremors and scents predictable, easier to manage. Stick had always tried to force the idea that his abilities were a gift, but down here they felt more like a curse.

He tried to remember how the rain sounded Up Above, how raindrops crashed against his office walls, a cocoon that muffled all other sounds so he could sort them out in his mind. Focus.

An irregular heartbeat, punctuated by sharp uneven breaths, managed to break through the dull hum in his head. He’d heard crying down here once before, a small scared child being ushered to bed by a kind-looking woman. But this was different. There was heartache, loss, despair… and anger.

He knew that feeling well.

He rose silently from his bunk, careful not to disturb Foggy’s sleep, and sneaked out in the direction of the Atrium, his senses sharp, trying to avoid any unfavorable encounters. He was aware that Clint had an annoying proclivity to watch him like a hawk wherever he went, feeling his narrowed eyes boring suspiciously into his back at odd hours of the day. But he could hear his snoring all the way from the Medical Bay, sleeping off some antibiotics.

Keeping to shadows not frequented by tired-eyed guards, he evaded them easily, focusing on the energy hums and the distressed sounds coming from a door down a darkened corridor, beyond which he could both hear and feel the center’s energy flowing. The Comms room, no doubt. And a soft familiar scent that alerted him that it was your distraught form on the other side.

It didn’t take a genius to realize that your meeting with the mysterious outsider had obviously affected you. His name had been spoken in hushed whispers; Bucky Barnes, the defector that turned his back on the Underground… and you.

A bubbling sensation started rising up from the pit of his stomach. Matt had sensed your hesitation before your departure; had hoped he had succeeded in lifting your spirits to bring back that determination you’d impressed on him back when you first met. The thought that a single word with this Barnes character had left you in this state was tingeing his already screaming senses with a boiling red tint.

Like fire.

It had been awhile since he’d felt this way; the vengeful devil peeking his head out of the hole Matt had buried him in.

He took a deep breath, sinking down against the door, his head leaning back against it, as he listened intently for any signs of your cries subsiding. You were strong, he knew that. You’d pick yourself up, dust yourself off… but the hurt, the pain, and the betrayal would linger, until it consumed you whole. Just like it had consumed him all those years ago.

He couldn’t let you drown yourself in that rage. _I won’t_ , he thought to himself, an idea – a hopeful one, at that – beginning to form in his mind.

***

You’d lost track of time, laying on the floor, tears dried on your face, still struggling to breathe properly; ignoring whatever messages or news tips were coming in through your Comm lines. The day’s events had broken you beyond repair, and you weren’t sure how you were supposed to come back from it this time. It had taken months for you to drown out your own emotions with everybody else’s burdens, putting their needs above your own.

Natasha had warned you about this. You let yourself feel for Bucky again, all but serving up your barely mended heart on a plate for him… only to have him trample on it for a second time. How long were you going to keep doing this to yourself? 

A quiet scraping under your door made you turn your head; a piece of folded cardboard peeking through the slit. Frowning, your reached over to grab it, feeling tiny indents as your fingertips gripped it. Opening it, you saw the intricately patterned dots covering the scrap.

_Matt._

You ran your fingers over the Braille writing, your breathing returning to a steadier pace, your heart loosening slightly from the vice-like grip it had been. You let out a sigh of relief at the lifeline he was giving you. He wasn’t far, but he wouldn’t push you. _Always so damn perceptive._

Sniffling and wiping your tears away, you got to your feet slowly, walking over to your Comms array. Scanning the note and running a translation script, you surprised yourself at the small smile now creeping on your face as you read his words:

_**Punching out my problems always helps me.** _

***

Matt was sitting cross-legged near the entrance of the empty training room when you walked in. He didn’t move, but his telltale head-tilt let you you know he’d heard you. You walked silently past him, towards one of the punching bags on the opposite side of the room, wraps already on your hands.

Whether it was deliberate or not, you both took a simultaneous deep breath, before you proceeded to give the bag hell.

With every punch you threw, every kick you landed, your mind seemed to clear, giving you the space to disseminate your thoughts down to their bare essentials. How easily Bucky had disarmed you with little resistance from you. How he’d taken the opportunity to try and clear his guilty conscience, a half-baked apology that came far too late, when he’d clearly moved on long before tonight. And you, a bigger fool than even Natasha took you for, still doing him favors.

You didn’t feel the tears stinging your eyes until a pair of strong hands behind you were placed on your shoulders. You exhaled a shaky breath, cold sweat trailing down your back as the weight of Matt’s hands squeezed lightly on you, your hands now hanging limp at your sides.

“Focus it.” he whispered, and you inhaled deeply, his words wading through the flooding dam inside your mind. “It will try to tighten around you, make you vulnerable, crowd every fiber of your being.”

“What will?” you asked breathlessly.

“The rage.”

You gulped, trying to fight back the chill crawling up your neck. Matt’s hands now traveled down to your wrists, lifting them up in front of you, preparing your stance. “Don’t let it take hold. Focus on one spot,” he knocked your right fist against the bag. “It’s easier to break through it that way.”

“You speaking from experience?” your voice was hushed, hesitant.

A low laugh in your ear, his breath prickling the back of your neck. “I’ve had plenty of it.”

***

“You know, as far as post-apocalyptic meals go, this isn’t bad.”

You didn’t think you’d still had it in you to laugh, but Matt was proving to keep surprising you at every turn.

“Don’t get too excited,” you told him, a rueful grin on your face. “It’s all test-tube food from the labs. Non-mutated beef is hard to come by these days.”

“No cows in the Underground, huh?” he matched your smile as he munched on his late night meal.

“A bit of a heavy load for the Scavenger Corps, for sure.”

He had stayed with you in the training room until you sank down to your knees; exhausted but feeling lighter than you had in days. No tears threatened to fall now, your anger replaced by a tired serenity, a peace in your heart that you weren’t sure would last very long, but it would be enough to get you through the night, at the very least. You now sat opposite each other back in your lab, silently munching on some leftover jerky Bruce had excitedly shared with you a few nights ago.

“You don’t have to talk about it.” You looked up at him, his eyes fixed on a spot slightly above your head, that measured sage-like confidence oozing from his voice. “But, you know… It can help. When you’re ready.”

You knew he wasn’t trying to be pushy, but the image of Bucky and that woman, his widening eyes confirming their affectionate display was not for you to see, kept encroaching around your heart, dark hate-filled tentacles gripping it back into that vice-like grip Matt had helped keep at bay. It just made you want to keep punching things, if you were being completely honest with yourself.

Inhaling deeply, you shook your head, trying to get the haunting visual out of your head. “Maybe not just yet,” you said quietly.

A pause.

“What about you?” You blurted out, desperate to dive out of your own mind and into someone else’s. “What’s got Matthew Murdock: good-natured lawyer by day, lethal weapon by night, all riled up?”

He chuckled uncomfortably, swallowing the last of the jerky and wiping his hands on his pants. “It’s a long story. Not one I usually tell.” He made to stand up, and you worried that in your boldness you were scaring him away.

“I’ll make you a deal, then,” you said, getting to your feet. He paused, turning his head towards your voice. “If you tell me some of it, I’ll tell you some of mine.”

He seemed to be pondering your proposal, so you continued. “I just… Tonight helped. A lot, really.” You took his sigh of relief as a good sign, stepping closer to him. “I wouldn’t be against it happening again.”

His mouth curved slightly. “You wouldn’t?”

You began to shake your head, but then realized he wouldn’t see you. “Not at all. And… if we end up talking things out,” you held your breath as you rushed through your words, “I’d be ok with that, if you were.”

It seemed like an eternity, the two of you a few feet from one another. You were hoping he wouldn’t scoff at you being too presumptuous to think he’d want to share anything about his past with you. But you were unaware that he was trying to hold back his eagerness at spending more time with you. Maybe you’d end up saving each other in the end.

It felt as though the entire room breathed out in relief when he finally said with a smile, “I’d be ok with that, too.”

***

You knew that staying past curfew every night would be frowned upon by the others, but you hoped that after smoothing things out with Steve, he’d have no qualms about your late night sessions. Which is why you found yourself, with bated breath, knocking at Steve’s door the next morning.

You barely waited for him to appear before you opened your mouth. “I’m sorry,” you blurted out in a rush, “I have no excuses, what I did was unwarranted, and unfair, and inconsiderate, and I promise you I–” but strong arms gripped you, interrupting your outpour of apologies, almost crushing you against the granite-like hardness of his chest, as Steve enveloped you into a tight hug.   
  
“I was worried,” he whispered, the low rumble of his voice reverberating through you both. “I let it get the best of me. I’m just glad you’re ok.”

You closed your eyes, returning his embrace briefly. “I’ll get there.”

“You’re not off the hook,” he arched an eyebrow, releasing you, as you took a deep breath.

“I figured,” you mumbled.

“So,” he crossed his arms, his usual concerned frown back on his face as he leaned against the door frame. “What happened?”

***

“It’ll take me maybe a couple of days to reverse engineer,” Scott was saying as he programmed a command into his keyboard, “But the only circuitry I’ve seen that comes close to this, came from OsCorp manufacturing.”

You’d relinquished the chip Bucky had given you into Scott and Hope’s hands after your talk with Steve, the pair now analyzing and running procedures in their lab. You had avoided going into the specifics of your visit Up Above, and Steve had decided against prodding you for too many details. He knew something had rattled you, to be sure, but in the face of the more present danger you seemed to be facing, it was more important for the two of you to present a united front than to start another public argument. The stakes were too high.

“Is there anything we should be on the lookout for in the meantime?” you asked, watching as Hope, Scott’s partner, set up some connecting wires and began attaching some to the chip itself. “Any keywords or archives that can shed some light on what they’re trying to do?”

Hope’s father, Hank, had led the Miniaturized Technology R&D Agency at OsCorp, before he’d vanished under suspicious circumstances. Hope and Scott had asked too many questions for Osborn’s liking, forcing them to turn over most of Hank’s private archives. Natasha had brought them into the fold; they knew too much and had lost even more. Valuable assets for the Underground’s own purposes.

“I’d keep an eye out for any events like the one Barnes told you about,” Hope said, making calculations on a screen opposite from Scott. “Osborn does loves making people disappear,” she added haughtily.

“Also, any projects dealing with physical or cognitive modifications”, Scott added, a dark shadow clouding his face for a second. “I recall Hank talking about a serum Osborn wanted to develop that increased stamina, mostly to appeal to the health and fitness nuts, but the FDA never approved further research. Could be they’re thinking of re-designing and testing on unwitting subjects.”

You frowned. They definitely had done something to Ben’s cognitive functions. You made a mental note to ask Bucky if he’d noticed a change in Ben’s physical strength, before you realized that your hands were shaking at the mere thought of going back. Steve put his hand on your shoulder then, snapping you out of the dark red web that had begun clouding your mind. Glancing up at him, you met his concerned eyes on you.

Clearing your throat, you breathed in deep before saying, “Noted. I’ll keep the lines open.”

“Let us know as soon as you find something,” Steve said, letting go of you as you made the effort to relax. “We may need to assemble a Scavenging team at a moment’s notice if we can recover more intel.”

“Got it.” You made for your office, but he caught up with you outside of Scott and Hope’s lab.   
  
“If there’s something bothering you, you know you can tell me, right?” he said, making you turn to face him with a pained look.

“I know,” you began, but you were unsure about how to proceed. Your request was bound to raise some eyebrows, but if it was for the good of the mission… and there was definitely a possibility of you having to face Bucky again. You couldn’t afford to lose control. Like it or not, you needed help, and there was only one person right now that was willing to do it.

“I’m trying to deal with it. And…” Steve’s eyebrows raised expectantly, waiting for you to continue. “I may need a curfew exemption for the time being.”

***

Surprisingly, even to you, Steve had been more than receptive to your private training with Matt after hours. “If you feel like it will help, then I support you,” he’d said, a rather suspicious glint in his eye, but you figured it had more to do with the fact that you were back on speaking terms than anything else. He cleared the use of the Training room with Peggy to make sure it was set up for your needs after curfew, and made Matt promise it wouldn’t interfere with his daily legal work.

Matt had successfully tied up Thanos’ lawyers in litigation proceedings since he’d arrived, using their own twisted loopholes against them, in order to avoid any current threat or retaliation against the Underground for the time being. It was a feat that had renewed enough hope in the citizens still close to Midland Circle for a fresh wave of protests and riots, much to Thanos’ displeasure, you were sure.

The news pouring in from the outside weren’t out of place in a society in disarray, but here and there you spied bits of information that were suspicious enough to take a closer look. Heeding Scott’s advice, you’d ran some search prompts for your Comms array, making sure it would flag any tips floating around about mass disappearances or human experimentation. The Carvers in the Wastelands ended up taking most of the blame. They were easy scapegoats, after all. They’d cut off all communications beyond their borders, opting for a more savage approach to their daily lives… if a life is what you could call it. Much like Eddie Brock, they were less human that they would appear. Anyone who ventured across their path wasn’t ever seen again… but the low level lab tech from Stark Industries or the janitor working in Midland Circle had no business in the Wastelands. And it was these two missing persons cases that you forwarded to Steve’s inbox for review.

You leaned over your desk, head hung low, closing your eyes, as a sharp pain began building on the nape of your neck. This was getting serious. If they went the same route as Ben, who knows where they would pop up next. And in what condition.

You debated about whether you should send the data to Bucky or not. You hadn’t even heard from him at all since you last saw him, not that you really wanted him to. You weren’t interested in explanations or anything he had to tell you anymore, you had your own sources. But this… this was different. Both the Underground and the Village were in this together now, and sharing this information was vital for everyone’s survival.

Encrypting the files carefully, you pinged them back through to Bucky’s channels. At the very least you could still play the civil card… even if he was too much of a coward to face up to what he’d done. Turning away, you began to prepare for another session with Matt. You were definitely in need of it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rage posted this on Tumblr, so no gifs on this one, sorry :( Lots of angst and a little fluff in there, though. --BJ

You hadn’t responded to any of his messages and he was starting to get desperate. If only you’d give him a chance to explain… **  
**

But Bucky knew he had no right to that. He had barely believed his luck at even being able to utter an apology for the heartache he’d caused you; to ask for your help had been an ordeal, for you both. He knew. Somehow he always knew.

Three days had passed, and the only contact he’d had with anyone from the Underground had been the Circus twins; Natasha and Clint had dropped off the transmitter you’d promised him on your visit, but they refused to stick around for much conversation. Or at least Clint did. Natasha, on the other hand…

“As if you actually cared.” The familiar threatening stance, the folded arms, the stern disapproving frown she reserved mostly for him at his attempt to ask about you.

“Don’t give me that,” he replied. “If I didn’t I wouldn’t even have asked her to come her in the first place.”

“If you did, you wouldn’t have left like the selfish scumbag you are.”

“Nat, please, just–” he ran a hand through his hair, his temper beginning to flare up. “Can you just tell her–”

“No,” she snapped. “I will _not_ tell her a single thing, and neither will you.” She took a step closer to him until her scornful glare was inches from his own frown. “You want me to believe that you care about someone other than yourself? Don’t contact her again. You’ve obviously kept yourself busy without her all this time, the least you can do is show her the same courtesy.”

Of course, you’d told her. “That wasn’t what she thought it was–”

“It never is, is it?” she snarled, before turning on her heel to walk away from him, but her courtesy comment suddenly registered the biting meaning behind them.

“Wait, what d’you–” Bucky made to grab her arm before she was out of reach, but the flash of an arrow whizzed by his face, grazing his cheek, and as he made to dodge away from it, Natasha side-swept his legs. He fell flat on his back and next thing he knew, Natasha was crouched over him, holding a blade at his throat.

“That was a mistake,” she hissed.

“You make another move, it’ll be your last,” a gruff voice spoke up, and she slowly took her eyes off Bucky to see Brock aiming a firearm at her, flanked by three more armed villagers.

“Chill, Brock,” Bucky said from the ground, his hands up yielding to Natasha.

“You got 10 seconds to get the hell out of here, Romanoff,” Brock warned, ignoring Bucky and looking down the barrel at Natasha, who merely curled her lip in a terrifying snarl, just as three arrows landed in a straight line in front of the men, right between Brock’s group and where Bucky lay.

“Next step you take will blow your boots off,” Clint’s threat was quiet, deadly serious, as he materialized from the shadows of the second level cross-section above them. “Feet and all.”

Brock’s eyes narrowed, but he stopped in place, the men halting behind him, guns still aimed at Natasha who slowly rose to her feet, sheathing her blade and looking down at Bucky with a loathsome stare.

“Tell your friends not to worry.” she had told him, green eyes boring on his desperate blue hue. “You won’t see us again.”

Clint had left the arrows behind, a reminder of just how far they’d go if pushed; though apparently the explosives had self-deactivated with his detonator well out of range.

Bucky now twirled one of Clint’s souvenirs in his hand, leaning against the entrance to the Village as the sky burned, the sun setting; deep orange and red hues streaking above him.

He’d purposely ignored Natasha’s warning. He’d sent you message after message, beseeching you to hear him out, that it wasn’t the way he wanted things to end between you, that he wanted to set things right. He had hoped your visit had been the first step towards something, anything, as long as you were back in his life again. But…

“James?” the soft voice behind him made him sigh, and a frail hand landed on his shoulder.

“You shouldn’t be out here, May.”

Strands of May’s hair blew around her face in the chill wind, the scar wrapping around her scalp visible for a few moments; she hugged herself as she shivered, but she planted herself in front of Bucky determinedly.

“We both know I don’t have much time, why should I spend it cooped up?”

“You won’t listen to Strange, you won’t listen to me,” Bucky trailed off, a frustrated sigh escaping his lip as he shook his head.

“I wonder where I picked that up from,” she chuckled, but her laugh quickly turned into a cough that grew in its intensity, Bucky reaching out to hold her steady as she wavered in place.

“Come on,” he said, “I’ll buy you a drink.” But her eyes had glazed over, a deep shudder taking over her entire body as she seemed to try and re-focus on Bucky’s worried face.

“Where’s Peter?” she said, confusion and worry now clouding her expression. “I told him not to wander so far away.”

Bucky pressed his lips together, trying to offer her a smile, but coming off more like a grimace. Her episodes were getting too frequent, and Strange had exhausted any possibility for a cure. Not even his sedatives worked on her now.

“Peter’s fine, May,” Bucky lied, the guilt eating him up inside. “I’ll send him in later, let’s go get you settled first.” He led her away from the entrance, but she kept looking around her the whole way, he assumed looking for any sign of Peter nearby.

The Carvers had already been doing a number to her head by the time Bucky and Brock had managed to pull her away from them, but Peter had been nowhere in sight. Unlike Clint, the Carvers weren’t much for leaving souvenirs. Peter was gone. And soon enough, she would be too.

***

Natasha and Clint’s encounter with Bucky and Brock had reached your ears… and your data banks. Brock had taken it upon himself to try and sever any ties between Freight Village and the Underground. You knew he was mostly all bark and no bite, and Bucky wouldn’t hesitate to bring him down a peg or two if, or when, necessary. But the almost daily interference of your outside transmissions were quickly taking a toll on your work. And your mind.

You’d come close to losing it after Brock had attempted to short out one of the Underground’s perimeter cameras. He’d failed, thanks to Clint’s booby traps, making Brock limp away in the company of one of his cronies. But the resulting communication with Bucky had left you in an almost murderous rage, and your late night meetings with Matt were quickly becoming your only lifeline.

“This isn’t supposed to be personal, but they’re determined to make it impossible for anyone to ever want to help them at all!” you railed, pacing back and forth in front of Matt, who was, as usual, sitting on the floor in an almost maddeningly serene stance. If you’d been less preoccupied, you’d have noticed he was carefully calculating your frantic paces, your skipping breaths, and your rapidly increasing heartbeat. Your agitation spoke volumes to him, almost like he was trying to fine tune a radio station without a frequency; warbled murmurs and loud static making it hard to pinpoint the source.

“Steve warned me about this, I should have listened,” you continued, mostly word vomit you’d been holding onto for way too long, not able to articulate any of it properly before. “People out there get greedy, and selfish, and they’ll just take and take until you’re left with nothing.”

Matt remained silent, a slightly clearer picture of your primary concern beginning to filter through the raging fire.

“I never should have gone up there in the first place.”

“You let him bait you.” Matt voice jarred you, not so much his tone, which was as measured and steady as always, but the stark words that you had barely even started to put together yourself. You’d let Bucky get under your skin, he wasn’t wrong. “Why?”

You stood shock still, looking at him. _Why?_

The simple answer was that you still loved Bucky. You never stopped loving him, even when every moment of your life without him had been spent spitefully hating him from a distance. But you’d let yourself hope and dream and remember, unabashedly while in his company Up Above, because it made you feel more alive than ever… because once the metaphorical clock struck midnight and the dream was over, you’d have to go back to your life trapped in the Underground. _Guess it’s not that simple._

You closed your eyes, trying to push the resentment and regret away. But all you were left with was embarrassment, and you weren’t exactly sure what for. _Maybe all of it._

“You can’t force yourself to forget,” you opened your eyes to find Matt on his feet. “You won’t be able to. It happens to the best of us,” he said quietly.

It was your turn to listen with bated breath, as he approached you, searching his face for an answer that may or may not help. Who even knew anymore?

“Granted, it was a long time ago,” he quickly added. “But…”

“But?” You prompted at his hesitation. You were desperate for more clarity, more of an insight into the mystery he seemed to always carry with him. Anything that might help you work through this yourself.

Matt smiled ruefully before saying, “Guess I’m not as over it as I thought I was.”

You sighed, half disappointed he wouldn’t elaborate, but unable to admonish him on it further. “I know the feeling,” you murmured, a sharp pain starting at your temple, spreading down to your neck and right shoulder, your hand snapping to it with a wince.

“You ok?” Matt frowned, noticing the sudden movement.

“Yeah,” you said, rolling your neck and rubbing your shoulder gingerly. “Just a bit sore, I guess.”

“May I?”

You paused, lifting your eyes up to his face, concern etched on the lightly creased lines of his forehead, reaching down to his rich brown eyes. Even without sight, they never seemed to lose their warmth.

“Sure,” you whispered, turning your back slightly towards him. You were about to reach for his hand, but he found your shoulder without your help, hovering slightly over your fingers. You breathed out, trying to mask the slight shiver that ran down your spine at his touch.

_Warm._ You closed your eyes as he gingerly massaged the sore spot away, relief spreading from the contact, your arms now loose at your sides.

“Better?” he said. His breath tickled your neck.

“Yeah,” the words came out in the same breath as a sigh. It was inevitable, that same feeling of weightlessness; the worries that crowded you always seemed to float away just by being in Matt’s presence. “Lawyer, fighter, therapist… is there anything you can’t do?”

The way Matt’s chuckle felt by your ear shouldn’t have felt that good, but you were beyond grateful for it. “My Dad got beat up a lot. I had to learn plenty when I was young. Saved his ass more times than I’d care to admit.”

You were in a complete state of bliss by now, his hands moving fluidly around your shoulders, the pain now vanishing, but you didn’t dare move away. “Doesn’t seem like much of a character defect to me,” you said softly.

His hands stopped moving, but they didn’t leave your shoulders. You turned your head to the side, eyes opening to see his face so close to yours it should have terrified you, the intimacy of this moment unparalleled. Emboldened by the elation his touch had brought on, you continued in a fervent whisper, “I probably wouldn’t be here without you.”

His eyelashes fluttered shut as he leaned in closer to you, one of his fingers now tracing your jawline, guiding you towards him.

But the rapturous spell befalling you both was broken as loud running footsteps were heard outside the training room, and the door opened with a loud clang, making you both jump. Claire, half dressed in tactical gear and cramming overflowing contents into her medical bag stood in front of you, an alarmed look on her face.

“What happened,” you asked, moving away from Matt, the soothing effects trailing away as panic began to set in.

“Freight Village,” she said, the shaky voice of someone trying to keep their cool, but fully knowing the worst that you could only fear. “They’re under attack. They need our help.”

_Bucky._

His name flooded your mind as you chased after Claire, leaving Matt behind you without another word.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky needs help. Clint and Matt team up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took so long to write, I wrote myself into a wall and this was the only way I saw out of it.

It had been long since the Underground had volunteered assistance to anyone Up Above; repeated onslaughts by entities like Eddie Brock and the Carvers had greatly solidified Steve and the others’ resolve about keeping to the Underground, no matter what crisis went on outside its walls. But this was different. You all felt it.

Every community that defected to distance themselves from Thanos’ reach knew the risk of retribution was a certainty sooner or later, but thanks to the Underground, the ones who took the risk knew there was precedent to minimize its effects. Thanos liked to present a civilized public persona when it came to his fight against places like the Underground… but Freight Village was unsanctioned. It wasn’t a legitimate nation, they had simply been ignored, forgotten and left to die. Until Bucky rallied them, helped them survive. And it seemed it was their turn to pay the price.

That rare moment of bliss with Matt had quickly dissipated, your chest only tightening as the perimeter cameras displayed billowing smoke rising from Freight Village. You strapped on your scavenger gear without hesitation. “Follow me,” you told Claire, making your way towards the entrance, ignoring Steve calling out to you as he attempted to push through the alarmed crowd that had gathered in the Atrium. It was only at the bunker’s checkpoint that Steve caught up to you, his weapons harness half-slung over his broad shoulders.

“Y/N, stop!”

Adrenaline high and ready for a fight, you turned to face him just as he slowed down before you. “We’re going Steve,” you said sternly, “Whether you like it or not–”

“Without any backup?” he snapped. “If you think I’m letting you two go out there on your own, you’re dreaming.”

“Then keep up, Rogers,” you shot back, turning your back on him without another word, not noticing the apologetic look Claire shot at Steve before following in your wake.

Streaks of blood on the ground, no doubt from the Village refugee being tended to inside, made you grit your teeth, but you continued to speed carefully through the streets. It was too quiet around the bunker’s perimeter, nor any sign of movement past the external checkpoint… that is, until you heard the familiar hissing of Eddie Brock emanating from the shadows of a nearby dark alley.

Pushing Claire behind you, you rounded on him, your rifle poised to fire, just as his warped face peeked out from the shadows; a large gash oozing blood down the side of his face.

“Better hiiiiide…” he twitched, looking every which way with a frantic crazed expression, not making eye contact with either of you. “Goblin’s on the prrrrowl…” and with that he retreated back into his lair without so much as a look in your direction.

Your eyes widened in terror. Goblin. _Osborn_.

Eddie and the Carvers hadn’t been the only ones affected by Oscorp’s factory toxins and half-baked experiments. Norman Osborn had gone too far when he made Harry stand in as a test subject. His own son, Oscorp’s Second in Command, was less than human now, his thirst for blood unrivaled. And Thanos loved to see him in action.

“No.” The word barely escaped your lips before resuming your mad dash through the streets.

“Y/N!” you heard Steve call out behind you, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. There was no time to lose, who knew how bad the damage really had been? Had people died? Had _Bucky…?_

You skidded to a stop at the entrance of the Village, Claire almost crashing into you at your sudden halt, while you took in the chaotic scene before you.

The image from your feeds didn’t do it justice. Fire and smoke rose from collapsed structures, people carried half-bloodied and crippled citizens in makeshift stretchers away from fire bursts. Others surveyed the wreckage and offered up drinks and food to any that would take them. Some of the stronger ones carried large sacks towards a small mound. A sense of dread overtook you as you realized they were bodies, and the feeling only intensified as the face you were searching for was nowhere in sight.

“Claire–” you began in hushed tones, but Claire didn’t let you finish.

“I’m on it,” and she made off towards one of the many huddles of limping villagers, as you headed in the opposite direction, weaving through the tunnels Bucky had led you through last time, Steve’s familiar steps chasing after you.

“Didn’t think you’d show up again,” a deep voice rang out to your left after turning a sharp corner, making you skid to a stop. Brock, half his face covered in bandages, his right arm in a sling. “Guess I owe the smartass again,” he added with a dark chuckle as he adjusted himself against the wall.

The dig at Bucky didn’t escape your notice. _Alive_. “Where–?”

“One level up, two meters back. Surgeon’s got him.”

_For now, at least._

Fearing the worst, feeling as though the wind had been knocked out of you, you continued walking away from Brock, barely hearing him address Steve as he finally caught up with you: “Now, _you_ … that’ll be a real surprise.”

***

A gaggle of onlookers hovering outside an opening between two freights let you know you were near. Pushing through the whispering crowd, you saw a tall dark haired man, Stephen Strange you supposed, his back to you, blocking a figure from view. Only when he moved aside did you see him, half his shirt torn to shreds, the skin on his back almost in the same state, while his left arm dripped blood down to the floor.

“Bucky,” you stepped closer to him, doubled over on the crate where he sat, but stopped short when you saw her. The dark haired woman from the other night lay on a makeshift cot in front of him, her eyes closed, looking so serene and peaceful that you thought she might be sleeping, if not for the fact that she didn’t seem to be breathing at all.

You approached Bucky tentatively, crouching down beside him and gently placing your hand on his right arm. In his hand he held an old crumpled photograph; it was her, less gray around her temples, smiling and hugging a younger boy, who couldn’t have been more than 12 years old. The scar visibly stretching out across her head must have happened after the photo was taken. A surge of misery and guilt shot through you. What had this woman gone through? _Did you really want to know?_

“Bucky… I’m sorry…” He turned his head, eyes latching on yours, full of sorrow, of pain, of loss – almost obscured by a deep cut and a growing purple bruise on the side of his face, making you gasp out sharply. “Oh my god…”

“I’m all right,” he said hoarsely; you frowned at the bruised welts around his throat, and you instinctively reached out to run your fingers delicately over them. Bucky sighed at your touch.

“Osborn?” Your question didn’t need an answer, but Bucky gave a resigned nod.

“May got in the way, she…” he trailed off miserably, but you got the gist. That guilty feeling wasn’t going away anytime soon.

“She saved you.”

“Stupid.” he hissed, but an angry tear still rolled down his cheek.

Your frown only deepened. He shouldn’t be beating himself up. Not about this.

You cleared your throat. “Claire’s looking after the people outside, we got here as soon as we heard.”

You started pulling away, knowing he might want some space, letting him know that the villagers were being taken care of. Giving him the time to mourn that he never gave you. But to your surprise, he tightened his grip on your hand. You looked up at him; the azure in his eyes was muted, weary.

“You shouldn’t have,” he whispered. “But I’m glad you did.”

He saw the concern on your face, the wordless promise; of course you’d come, whenever you were needed. And the odious reminder of how much he didn’t deserve any of it taunted him. He’d let May die. He wouldn’t be able to bear it if you met the same fate. But in this moment, you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart at the seams.

A loud cough by the entrance snapped you out of it, tearing your eyes away from Bucky to find Steve looking pointedly at the two of you. Your hands were still intertwined, and you let go far too quickly for Bucky’s liking, a new ache, having nothing to do with his injuries, contracting within his chest. 

The crowd seemed to have dispersed, you hear Brock’s voice out of sight usher them away from the corridor.

“What did Osborn want?” Steve demanded, perhaps more sharply than he might have needed to.

“Nice to see you too, Steve,” Bucky groaned, attempting to stand, but Strange appeared rather magically at his side in an instant. “Oh no you don’t,” he said, pushing him back down on his seat. “I’m not done with you yet.”

“It can wait, Steve,” you said reproachfully, straightening up.

“No, it can’t,” Bucky said, waving Strange’s hands away, but he didn’t make another attempt to move. “He came for Ben,” he said, his eyes on you.

_Shit_. “The chip.”

“He knew how to find us and where to strike–”

“Because Ben knew.” _shit, SHIT._

Bucky nodded grimly. “And now they know we’re not going down without a fight.”

“Even if you all end up dead,” Steve muttered.

“And what do you suggest we do, huh?” Bucky said, straining slightly to stand, but rising to his full height and Strange just about threw his hands up in the air; turning to tend to May’s lifeless body instead. 

You couldn’t help but shudder, and purposely turned your back on her cot as Bucky continued. “Whether we fight back or not, we’re dead anyway. Might as well take down a few of them with us.”

You stepped closer to Steve, noticing how your gentle giant of a friend was ready to retort. “Steve,” you lowered your voice, hand on his arm, imploring him to heed your words. “We have to do something.”

“What do you think we’re doing here?” he hissed back at you. “We’re already doing more than our fair share.”

“Don’t let us inconvenience you,” Bucky spoke up sharply, turning his back on the both of you. “We can take care of ourselves.”

“You can barely take care of yourself right now,” you said with a dejected sigh, rushing to his side and finally taking matters into your own hands, forcing him down on to a cot next to May as he acquiesced with a painful wince.

“Leave him alone, he keeps forgetting you can’t win fights on stubbornness alone” Steve scoffed.

“And you keep forgetting to shut up and listen,” you turned on him now, as Steve unfolded his arms in mild surprise at your thunderous expression. “This isn’t personal anymore, fuck all of that!” You stood between the two men now, whose narrowed eyes kept darting towards each other as you spoke. “It’s about all of us. If Osborn is using people as human time bombs, the next chip could be aimed at us.”

“Not if we’d just minded our own business,” Steve turned on you now. “I told you it was a bad idea, and you didn’t listen–”

“Really? _‘I told you so’_ , that’s what you’re going with here?–”

A whirlwind force blast, like a punch to the chest, made you both stagger backwards, silencing you both instantly. Eyes wide, you turned towards the freight’s interior, where Stephen Strange stood, hands outstretched in your direction. “That’s better,” he interjected as he straightened his stance. “I’m working here, if you two don’t mind.”

Bucky attempted to hide a lopsided smile as both you and Steve tried to compose yourselves. You’d heard of the Mystics, enhanced magical entities who were the only true match for Thanos… somehow Bucky’s story about Doctor Strange and how he ended up in Freight Village made a lot more sense now.

“I’m… gonna go help Claire,” Steve said, uncharacteristically bemused. It took a lot to render him speechless, but this was something more than he could handle right now. “We’re not done talking about this, he said, a hint of the old Steve back in his voice.

“Can’t wait,” you heard Bucky mutter under his breath, snapping you back to reality. You sighed, crossing your arms and turning to face him. His smirk instantly disappeared. “Sorry.” 

You bit your lip, swallowing back any biting retort, any grudge-like remark. There was no time for any of it. No time for regrets, for fights, for blame. If you didn’t act now, you all would be responsible for what happened to the rest of the world.

“Bucky…”

“Look Y/N, I’m sorry I brought you into this–

“Buck–”

“Just, go back home, this is our mess–”

“BUCK!”

He fell silent, and you leveled with him, eyes set and gaze determinedly on his. “Tell me what happened.”

***

“So what, she’s just going to stay out there?” Sam was saying, bewildered.

“For the time being.” Steve sighed, and Matt detected this discomfort from around the corner of the hallway where your Comms lab was located.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.” He recognized Natasha’s disapproving voice this time.

He hadn’t intended to eavesdrop, in truth he had half-hoped he’d find you there surrounded by the usual buzzing and humming of transmissions and equipment once the excitement around the Underground had subsided. But he knew you weren’t anywhere around anymore. The distinct beating of your heart, the way your breath hitched whenever a new transmission came in… he couldn’t hear that at all now. You were gone, and he had a feeling he knew where.

“It’s not ideal, but Y/N’s right.” Steve said resignedly. “The people up there need help, there’s no telling if the threat will reach us now that we have Osborn’s chip in our possession. And as much as I hate to admit it,” he added with a sigh that indeed sounded like he regretted every word out of his mouth, “they need help. And we’re the only ones in a position to give it.”

Matt frowned at Steve’s words. He’d noticed the way you’d reacted without hesitation at the news of the attack, remembering the words you’d said when you’d first met, that the people from Up Above were a lost cause. His mind had clouded; dark grey intermingling with fire red. As much as you tried to deny it, you still thought Bucky Barnes was worth saving.

It irked Matt how easily you could forgive him. He wasn’t that strong. He never was very good at forgiveness. And try as he might, forgetting was never an option.

Matt attempted to steady his breathing. No, this wasn’t about him. The conversation between Sam, Steve and Natasha was proof of just how big this really was.

Distracted, he almost missed the extremely muted thumping of someone’s heart behind him, turning to face the intruder as their voice was heard surprisingly close. “It’s not polite to eavesdrop, you know.” The Hawk.

“I sort of can’t help it,” Matt said, slightly defensive.

“Good, cause I’m not that great at it.” Matt could hear the amusement in Clint’s voice as he stepped, lighter than air, around him to position himself on the other side of the wall. “What’d you got?” he whispered, fiddling with his hearing aid.

“Not much,” Matt said quietly. He didn’t much feel like going into why he was standing on this hallway in the first place, but not much escaped Clint’s sharp eyes. His hearing may not be what it used to, but he’d recognize that forlorn look anywhere. He saw it in the mirror enough times before joining the Underground.

“Uh huh,” he said.

Matt didn’t have an answer to that. But he was spared thinking of one when the voices coming from the Comms began to grow louder as they approached the Lab’s doors. Matt and Clint pressed up against their respective walls hidden from sight, still listening intently.

“Just offer up as much support as you can,” Steve was now saying. “Y/N and I will be coordinating supply drops and rotating medical staff as soon as she’s done setting up a proper Comm terminal over there.”

“We’ll be short-staffed in no-time if we’re sending people out on supply runs for everybody,” Sam stated worryingly.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure Clint will manage with training new eyes and ears.” It was Natasha’s turn to sound amused now, and Matt had the slight suspicion that she knew they hadn’t been far out of earshot for awhile.

Clint clearly agreed. “Shit,” he groaned under his breath. “Follow me, Ears.”

***

Matt kept close to Clint through a back passage and up a ramp, he counted maybe three levels, before he sensed Clint squat down onto a landing, overlooking the dome-like space below. Clint held onto the railing, eyes following Steve and Natasha out of the Comms corridor, the redhead locking eyes knowingly up at him.

“They looking?” Matt said, head tilted in Clint’s direction.

“Yup.”

“Great.” With a sigh, Matt lowered himself beside Clint, his back against the railing.

“Ah, don’t sweat it. Tasha spies on everyone, we didn’t hear anything we weren’t supposed to.”

Matt arched an eyebrow at that. “Everyone?”

Clint’s only reply was a chortle.

Matt sighed again. What was he even doing here? He thought you’d given him a purpose, finally a way to cleanse his heart from guilt, and pain, and anger. He was finding it hard to hold on to that purpose without you here.

His thought were interrupted by Clint once again. “So, you in?”

Matt’s head dipped towards him, puzzled. “What?”

“The Scavenger Corps. It’s all hands on deck for this one. I could use the help. Unless you’d rather be filing injunctions or whatever it is that you lawyers do to pass the time?”

“What makes you think I can–”

“I’m not the blind one. And you’re pretty spry for one,” Clint cut him off, making Matt scoff. “Sure, you could just mope outside Y/N’s empty office with all that free time on your hands, but that’s not gonna win this war.”

“Is that what’s happening? We’re at war?” Matt challenged him.

“The world was at war long before you got here, Murdock,” Clint said simply. “It’s only just now that we’re finally joining the fight.” He paused, and added darkly. “It’s about time, too.”

Matt considered his words, begrudgingly. He hadn’t been brought in for his physical prowess, he was here to make sure the Underground could survive.

This was what he’d feared. He thought he was making the right decision, keep Foggy safe after losing everyone else he cared about, give him a semblance of a normal life. Nelson & Murdock, just Underground for the time being.

But it looked like the end of the long game; the start of the final round. Clint was right. It was time for action. And he wasn’t about to let you fight on your own. He’d made a promise.

“I guess Foggy can take over the paperwork for awhile.”

“Good,” Clint got to his feet now, stretching his arms up above his head and letting out a yawn. “Let’s go suit up then. Partner.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha says her piece. Bucky tries to make a play. Drama!

Bucky’s injuries had been substantial, and none of them seemed to be healing properly… primarily because he insisted on joining the reconstruction efforts in the Village, and ignoring Strange’s bed rest orders. By the fourth re-stitching of his arm, he finally dosed Bucky with enough sedatives to knock him out cold. “He’ll be fine,” he said nonchalantly as Brock and two others half dragged Bucky back to his room. “Might be a bit hungry when he wakes up.” He hadn’t been clear when that might happen, and his non-committing shrug when you asked him told you not to push it. It was just as well. Time was short, and there were far more important matters to take care of. **  
**

You’d conferred with Sam when he showed up to assist in a supply run; water, clean clothing, and food from Bruce’s lab had been distributed between the villagers, and he’d brought along some basic blueprints for an upgraded communications satellite, a new filtration system for the dilapidated well the villagers had put together, and reinforced security for Freight Village. Even Brock had to put his reservations about the Underground on hold, coming to a hesitant truce with Natasha the next day when she came to drop off weapons and ammo for protection.

“You know, none of this is going to do much difference if they send their Goblin down here again.” Natasha pointed out, as you both lugged in parts and equipment into Bucky’s room, where the skeleton of his current Comms array resided.

“Doesn’t mean we get to stand by and watch, Nat,” you replied, carefully setting down your gear in the farthest corner away from Bucky’s bed, where he lay, snoring slightly, bandaged up like some sort of haphazard mummy.

Nat glanced at the unconscious Bucky, nose wrinkled as though he smelled. To be fair, he probably did, but you didn’t seem to mind. It wasn’t foreign to you and, though you wouldn’t be ready to admit it to anyone, much less yourself, it made you feel comfortable, centered, productive… at home.

“So, what, you’re gonna take over for him up here?” There was a hint of resentment in Natasha’s voice.

“Nat,” you sighed.

“No, seriously, Y/N,” she said. Crouching down next to you as you organized your items on the floor. “Do you have a plan? Are you staying here? Are you coming back? Who is this really for? And don’t say us, because we both know that’s a lie.”

“I know where you’re going with this,” you said, your expression darkening.

“Am I wrong?”

You glanced over to where Bucky lay. What else could you do? Another attack was almost a certainty. Even before the Underground was born, you’d all been preparing for a fight, one way or another. The time for hiding and playing their game was over; Thanos, Osborn, and Stark had made that very clear.

“We need to do our part,” you said, your voice low, but without any uncertainty. “He’d do it for us.”

Natasha scoffed.

“Just like I did for you,” your eyes met blazing green. “And I’d do it again.”

You held Natasha’s gaze, which softened at your words. You both remembered that night as though it was yesterday. She knew you’d never ask anything of her that she wasn’t willing to give out of her own volition, she never had. But it was different with you; with Steve, Clint, and Sam. It had been different with Bucky, too, once upon a time. 

Did she really think it was that easy for you to let go of your grudges? Of the deafening heartbreak you couldn’t seem to shed away, no matter how many times you rushed to Matt for a reprieve? The nights you spent with him in the training room were short, temporary episodes of a life that you could have, but your reality came crashing hard after every single night was over. The war was real, the people needing protection were real. And as much as you tried to ignore it, Bucky was here, within your reach once again. You had already lived this life, it was familiar, you knew what to expect. Was it so wrong to want that feeling back again?

Natasha shook her head. It wasn’t disappointment, more a detached disbelief. 

“You know I would follow you to the ends of the Earth if you asked me to,” she said solemnly. “I thought a certain legal representative would be responsible for that bleeding heart of yours, but I guess I still have my work cut out for me.” You chuckled at the insinuation.

“There’s… too much baggage to unpack. Between Matt and me,” you said, avoiding her eyes, and Natasha noticed. “And I doubt he’d be willing to sort through that, not with the way we – I – left things.”

A knowing smile spread out on Natasha’s face as she straightened up and headed out the door. “You never know. Oh,” she stopped short at the entrance of Bucky’s freight, fixing you with an arched eyebrow. “There’s an extra supply drop inbound before nightfall, so be sure to meet it on time.”

“Ok,” you frowned. Sam hadn’t said anything with you after this morning’s arrival. “They’ll have to double up. And stay the night to rotate medical staff to the Underground tomorrow,” you said, after some quick lodging calculations. Tensions around Midland Circle had increased the Village’s population in the last two days, even in the aftermath of The Goblin’s attack. “How many?”

“One or two, Steve’s message didn’t specify.”

You sighed. “Guess I should still thank him next time I see him.” You had to admit, he was being more supportive than you deserved. The more help he sent over, the better.

“It wasn’t really his idea,” Nat’s mischievous tone was growing with every word she said. You knew it well.

“Nat–” but she didn’t give you a chance to continue.

“See you when I see you.” And she vanished from sight, leaving you to stare at the empty space where she had stood.

***

_“I can’t just turn a blind eye, Y/N.”_

_“Are you asking me to?,” you whispered, frantically. “To hide this from the others?”_

_“It’s not even that much. They’re my own rations, I’m not taking from anybody else–”_

_The look on your face pained him; the conflict between protecting the love of your life, or preserving the safety of the home you’d built for yourselves. The fear that he’d get caught and be punished for going against the rules… of losing him. But he’d told himself he would deal with the repercussions. He didn’t need the help, but he could give it. And he so wanted you to understand…_

_He shook his head in frustration. “There’s… so much more that we could do.” He searched your eyes for just a hint of your sympathy. He could always share everything with you, why not this? “Why can’t they deserve a chance like us?”_

_You sighed, pressing your forehead to his chest, his arms wrapping around you. Whatever did happen, you would be protected. He’d make sure of it._

_“We could talk to Steve,” he heard you say. “Peggy, maybe… we can organize them, devise a relief program, or–”_

_Your voice was becoming desperate. He’d made you an accessory to his recklessness, and now you were spinning your wheels trying to mitigate this disaster he’d brought you into. He’d been a fool. Steve would never understand. None of them would. And your quick-thinking would help no one this time._

_“Shhh,” he said softly, kissing the top of your head, before tilting your chin up to meet his eyes. He hadn’t expected yours to be brimming with terrified tears. “I’m sorry. I’ll deal with it. It’s my mess, right?”_

_“It’s our–” but his fervent kiss didn’t let you finish; the wordless promise his lips made as they moved in sync with yours, his only promise to you: that you wouldn’t pay for his mistakes. This wouldn’t be your problem. None of it would be, if he could help it_ _._

***

“Get two more and work on the south-side structure,” you said, pointing at the plans in Brock’s hands. “We won’t get anywhere until we secure the generator. While you’re at it, someone else should be handling the wiring…”

Bucky’s eyes felt like they had been glued together; attempting to pry them open by sheer willpower alone made his head throb; which was nothing compared to the intense burning sensation that seemed to tingle down his arm and back.

“You look like hell, Sleeping Beauty,” Brock’s rough voice hit him like a bag of rocks, making Bucky wince.

“I feel like hell,” he groaned, attempting to rise up from his bed, but you pushed him gently back.

“Yeah, probably a good idea if you don’t get up just yet,” you said, before turning towards Brock. “Can you get Strange in here?”

He nodded and was gone in a flash, Bucky’s eyes widened in surprise. “Since when does he listen to you?”

“I dazzled him with my wits,” your sarcasm making him snort as you handed him a flask. “Drink this and stay down.”

You turned back to the comms array, wiping small beads of sweat off your forehead before getting back to work on programming the transmission channels.

Bucky guzzled the drink you gave him, before he realized what it was, and he abruptly sputtered, “Where the hell did you get clean water from?”

“Sam brought some from Underground,” you said, not turning around. “But Brock got the water filtration tank up and running this morning, so there’ll be more where that came from.”

You sat making calculations and annotations for the satellite array, while Bucky looked bewildered at your back. “How long have I–”

“About two days, give or take.”

Bucky gaped at you, but whatever indignation he was struggling to vociferate was interrupted by Stephen Strange, his commanding presence filling the inside of the freight as he stepped inside.

“Ah. Good,” he sniffed haughtily at the sight of Bucky. “Any headaches? Dry mouth? Aches?”

“Uh–I’m–”

“Great. Ta-ta.” And with that, he was gone again.

“What the hell–”

“Ah!” you suddenly squealed, clapping your hands in delight, as the satellite and the comm’s array coupled.

“Y/N, what is–”

“Look!” you reached out your hand, and he felt that familiar boil deep in his gut as your fingers touched his.

The monitors you’d hooked up to the wall where you were working were now feeding in security transmissions from the terminal at the entrance of the Village. “It’s a basic array, nothing fancy, but it’ll do the job, I think,” you said, excitedly, as Bucky made his way slowly to the wall, looking at the screens wide-eyed. “At least you’ll have enough of a head start to prepare and launch security protocols before anything big happens.”

“What security protocols?” he said, bewildered, finally tearing his eyes away from the array and meeting yours. He’d forgotten how brightly they shone when you were excited, it always seemed to spread outward, like a glowing aura surrounding you.

His gaze momentarily stumped you, bringing you down from the high of your success slightly. After a beat, you gulped, rearranging your expression into a slightly muted one. “You feeling up for a walk?” you said, holding out your hand again. “We’ve been busy.”

***

“You did all this?”

He was slightly leaning on you for support, though the extended rest seemed to have done the trick and he was moving plenty on his own.

“It wasn’t just me,” you rolled your eyes. You gestured out to the people hard at work around you. “It turns out it really does take a village.” you smiled, and he couldn’t help but laugh at the corny comeback.

With the help of the Underground, power generators had been put in place, rechargeable battery packs had been donated for pulse rifles and re-purposed weaponry, and most of the Freight’s grid in the local quadrant had steel reinforcements by now, preventing the cross-sections from falling apart in case of another attack. Brock had already taken care of mobilizing the younger villagers and stockpiling water for everyone, making good use of the new water filtration tank.

“It’s a chance,” you said, as your walk slowed down near the graveyard. “Everyone deserves one. You taught me that.” Your voice was soft as Bucky let go of you and approached a fresher spot of dirt with a flattened stone at its head. The lettering on it had a single name: _May Parker._

The gut-wrenching pang Bucky felt in his gut now was sure to have bruised him from the inside. May didn’t get that chance. He’d make sure Osborn would pay for that.

“When did you…?” his low voice trailed off, and you thought you heard it break slightly. His back was turned to you, and you briefly wondered if you even wanted to see the mixture of rage, or pain, or loss, you supposed was marring his features.

“Yesterday,” you almost whispered. “At Dawnbreak. Brock and Strange thought it was fitting.”

“She loved Dawnbreak.”

His sorrow was palpable, and you briefly squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the painful ache of your own. Would he talk that way about you when you were gone?

“Y/N, she wasn’t my–”

“I know,” you cut him off, snapping your eyes open. He turned slightly towards you, catching your gaze for a millisecond, before your eyes darted away, anywhere else. “Strange told me.”

There had been many things Strange had told you, in fact. How his powers were solely dependent on nearby energy sources. How he had brought down an entire wing of Metro General to try and save Dr. Palmer but failed, injuring hundreds in the process. How he found his way to Freight Village, had attempted to treat May, but ultimately failed. How the guilt and all his mistakes weighed heavily on him; on Brock, on Bucky, most of all. Stephen Strange had found you an understanding and sympathetic listener. After all, regret was a feeling you could greatly relate to.

“Then you know,” he said, now taking a step closer to you, while you subconsciously took a step back. It didn’t deter him. “You know, I would never–”

“It doesn’t change anything,” you said abruptly. He couldn’t say those words to you. _Not now._

“Doesn’t it?” he implored you, his voice finally making you look up, straight into the pleading blue; that look he reserved only for you.

 _It shouldn’t_ , you stubbornly told yourself, but your voice wouldn’t form the words; stuck in your throat as he kept his eyes on yours. Even in her state, whoever May thought Bucky was, it had been real to her. All you could think about was how you’d felt when you’d seen them together… and May hadn’t even been in the ground for a day.

_And yet…_

A light sardonic chuckle escaped Bucky’s lips at your silence. “I just…” You weren’t the only one struggling, evidently. He gestured lazily around you both. “I… all this… I mean–”

You were desperate to end the conversation. This wasn’t what you were here for, no matter how much your heart ached for it. “Just spit it out.”

“Thank you,” he took a step closer, and you should have backed away again, but your feet were now rooted to the spot where you stood, and you swallowed a soft gasp rising in your throat when his calloused, rough – warm – hand gripped yours. “I have absolutely nothing to give you, to thank you, for everything–”

“I didn’t do it for you.” He saw through your lie instantly.

“Bullshit.”

You gulped, unable to look away from him. “All right, I didn’t do it _just_ for you.” He was running circles with his thumb on your hand now, and you weren’t pulling away. “I mean– someone had to do something while you were napping.”

A slow smile began to grow on his lips. “I didn’t really have a choice in that.”

“Well, neither did I.” The distance between you had closed to inches, Bucky gripping your hand now to his chest, that devotion from months before brightening his intense gaze once again.

Footfalls approaching were the only thing that made you blink away the familiar haze, and you let your hand fall out of Bucky’s grasp as one of the sentries said “The supply couriers are here.”

“Thanks,” you said, with a last glance at Bucky, before turning towards the entrance… where the sight of Clint and Matt, fully geared up, made your heart stop.

_SHIT._


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More conflict. and angst. and drama!

You hurriedly rearranged your face to mild surprise, rather than extreme guilt, while approaching the the small crowd assembling at the entrance of the Village. Silently admonishing Natasha for the lack of warning as you tentatively answered Clint’s wave back with your own, your eyes inevitably fixed on Matt. His being here wasn’t an unwelcome presence, not to you… but it was bound to make things complicated. Especially now. More than they already were. **  
**

“This is what passes as the royal welcome these days?” Clint said as way of greeting.

“If I had known you were coming I’d have rolled out the red carpet,” you ribbed your friend, glancing over his shoulder as Matt approached, his arms straining within a dark tac suit, as he and the group of villagers and volunteers carried crates and supplies inside. He looked like a shadow, more like the fighter you’d seen on that first night you’d taken him to the Underground. Powerful. Vigilant. _Irresistible_. “Hi, Matt.”

He walked steadily towards you, following the sound of both your voice and your heart, thumping away madly the closer he got to you. You couldn’t help it. The tension from your last encounter had been far from relieved, hanging over you like a cloud. Stopping short of a few inches between you, he dropped the bags he carried at your feet, his eyes obscured by the hooded vest he wore, but the corner of his lips crooked upwards as he straightened up. “Hey.”

He had to know what he was doing. Those last moments in the training room with him suddenly flooded your mind, and from his tell-tale smirk, he’d been thinking about it, too. You tried to push away a knowing smile that you knew he wouldn’t see, but his own growing grin told you he’d suspected it was there all the same.

Clint rolled his eyes. “This is the last time I try to beat Nat at poker,” he muttered. “I’m not gonna have to carry all this in by myself, am I?” He said a little louder in your direction.

“No need,” you said, reluctantly tearing your eyes from Matt, and looking admonishingly towards Clint. “They’ll take it from here,” you said, gesturing to the crowd already grabbing hold of the deliveries and carrying them within the Village’s walls.

“Serious lack of protocol,” Matt quipped, still standing mere inches away from you.

“They know where everything needs to go,” you said. “Amazing what people are capable of when you put your trust in them, don’t you think?”

Matt chuckled, and you couldn’t help but feel shivers down your spine at the sound… the same sensation you’d felt as he leaned in closer to you back in the Underground…

“Clint,” Bucky’s voice behind you made you stiffen, as he approached your group. “Sorry you’re late to the party, someone already tried to blow us up.”

“Ah well, they didn’t do a good job of it. You’re still alive for one.”

You blanched at the tense exchange as you saw Matt’s brow furrow.

“I’ll show you both where you’ll be staying,” you said quickly, trying to avoid any additional unpleasantness. Shooting Bucky a pained look, you strode away, Clint and Matt in tow.

“Nat said you’d been hard at work,” Clint said in begrudging approval as you led them through an opening in a structure, lightly touching Matt’s arm to guide him safely around a deep ditch. “Too bad it’s done nothing for Barnes’ attitude.”

You sighed. “You’re just here for the night Clint, try not to antagonize the locals this time.”

“Compared to our last meeting, he was positively warm and fuzzy,” Matt interjected with a smirk.

It was your turn to roll your eyes, but you noticed he hadn’t pulled away from your grip on his arm.

“He’s been through a lot in the past few days, just… give him a break.”

You walked them down a long passageway, through a few occupied boxcars and into an empty one. Two cots had been squeezed in, and a corner was being used for additional supply storage.

“Sorry, space is limited,” you said, brushing strands of hair sticking to your forehead away. “This is the best I could do in such short notice–”

“Ah, I doubt I’ll sleep much,” Clint said, dropping a pack on one of the beds and taking out some gear. “Is it alright if I do a perimeter check? Folks back home want to know what else we can spare.”

You nodded, and he was out the door, leaving you and Matt in the cramped car.

“Um,” you stammered awkwardly. “I don’t know if there’s anything else you might need, Nat didn’t tell me you–”

“When was the last time you slept?” Matt cut you off, taking a step closer to you.

You had to think for a moment, before you shook your own head, confounded. You honestly couldn’t remember. “There just hasn’t been any time, I–”

“Well, now there is.”

“Matt–”

He placed his hands on your arms, whether to steady himself or steady you, you weren’t sure. His touch on your skin, gentle, but firm, silenced you instantly. “Clint and I can take over, you need rest.”

You exhaled sharply, the anxiety of how little time and how many daunting tasks yet to be completed overtaking your mind. “You won’t get much done without Bucky, and right now he’s not feeling particularly trusting,” you warned him.

“Then we’ll persuade him,” he said, his conspiratory voice making you laugh. Even after everything – your abrupt departure, the weight you constantly carried on your shoulders – how was it that he always found a way to put you at ease? You couldn’t help but find yourself comfortably leaning into him as his hands traveled up and down your arms, closing the distance between you ever so slightly. “Come on,” he said, his voice now no more louder than a deep whisper. “You said it yourself, they people here know what to do. You can’t help them when you’re dead on your feet.”

“Fair point,” you murmured, your tired limbs already succumbing to Matt’s warmth, his strong hands finding their way around your waist, and yours lazily resting on his chest. You weren’t sure if it was the soothing effect of his words, or his presence, or the warm nighttime air settling over the Village… maybe he was right.

You’d been running ragged for days, taking care of everything and everyone… Yet, here Matt was, practically shielding you from it all, and you were ready to let him.

“Besides, we can’t pick up where we left off in your state,” Matt breathed, his face now closer to yours.

“Ah, the mystery’s revealed. _That’s_ why you’re here,” you quipped through your suddenly dry throat.

“Partly,” his smile widened, your heart inevitably skipped a beat… and Matt took his chance without hesitation. His lips connected with yours, a soft and long kiss, as if he was memorizing how every contour of you felt against him. Him pulling away felt agonizing, your breath hitching at the loss of contact.

“Sorry,” his nose lightly grazing yours, and you wet your lips, already dry and wishing for more. “I’ve been wanting to… do that. For awhile.“

A dazed smile stretched on your face at his sudden shyness. “And?”

“Jury’s still out.”

“Funny, Mr. Murdock,” you said, pulling him closer still, your tiredness making you grasp at him desperately. “Maybe you should try again.” And he couldn’t do much except hum a brief chuckle against your hungry kiss.

***

Your exhaustion won out in the end, Matt leading you towards the bed meant for him, where you now lay fast asleep. His head leaning back against the wall outside, his senses scanned his surroundings. The air was heavy up here, too. Fear permanently lingered as much as it did within the Underground’s walls. But a thin current of something else, something that the people below seemed to have lost altogether, was running throughout the Village grounds.

Hope? A glimmer, a tiny spark. He felt it as he handed off supplies, the men’s hands strengthening, the sighs of relief, the quickening of their paces as they rushed to distribute the much needed loot to the rest.

Matt leaned his head slightly to the side as he sensed you turn over in your sleep, your deep breathing steady, syncing his own breath with yours.

It had to be you. Your efforts in bringing both worlds – the Underground and the Village – together in unity against a much bigger threat, damned the consequences, even if it was just you against the world. It all felt eerily familiar.

That same fire was what had led him to prowl the darkened streets in Midland Circle not that long ago. There were things he could do as the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen that he couldn’t do as Matt Murdock. He’d tried to make Karen understand, and ultimately she paid the price. She was untraceable now; a disembodied presence tugging at the heart of the struggling rebellion, fighting the war he’d inadvertently started. He’d lost her forever. Father Lantom had followed shortly after.

He let out a shaky sigh that that your nearby presence couldn’t quell this time. He’d sworn no one else would pay the price of his hubris. But as he thought of Foggy, Father Lantom, and the long line of people that had come before, he couldn’t say he was making very good on that promise. He wasn’t making much of anything compared to you. And the more he saw it all consume you, the more desperate he became to bear the weight you carried.

Heavy steps approaching made his ears prick up, and the frown settling in Matt’s face only deepened as he recognized the strides.

“She’s asleep,” he said, his voice low, but the finality in his tone made the new arrival stop in their tracks abruptly.

The tense silence that followed was ominous, until Bucky let out a muted grunt as Matt felt his broad frame sink down to the floor next to him.

“Good,” was all he said, and Matt, who was expecting some more resistance, let his alert aversion relax… but only slightly.

The pair sat in silence for awhile, looking out at the polluted skyline as you slumbered inside the freight. Matt couldn’t speak for Bucky, but the fact that he was as tense and guarded as ever made him think similar thoughts of anguish were plaguing his companion’s mind.

 _Give him a break._ Your words from earlier echoed in his mind, and with a resigned exhale, he was the first to speak. “Wanna talk about it?”

Bucky snorted. “I’m not really the bonding type.”

Matt shrugged, “So Y/N tells me.”

He heard Bucky gulp at that, and he could barely hide the smirk on his face at Bucky’s biting reply. “Talks about me much, does she?”

“Usually while beating on sandbags and training dummies, so take that as you will.”

It was clichéd, childish really, but Matt couldn’t help it. The knowledge that Bucky had hurt you, broken you to the point where you unabashedly threw yourself into the fight without thought or regard to yourself didn’t do much to improve his perception of this so-called Leader. Bucky had pulled you into this disaster, away from him, just like he had done with Karen, and the comparison inevitably made the Devil stir within him.

But to Matt’s surprise, Bucky’s resulting chuckle wasn’t disdainful in the slightest. And that angered him more than he cared to admit to himself. “Figures that would amuse you.”

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Bucky’s tone was still amused, but the sardonic edge made it clear he was enjoying riling Matt up.

“For one thing, that it’s pretty clear Y/N’s well-being is the least of your worries,” attempting to keep the boiling red lava within him at bay, Matt got to his feet, and he wasn’t really all that surprised when he sensed Bucky straighten up himself, mere inches away, angry breaths blowing hot steam onto Matt’s face.

“You think you know me?” Bucky hissed. “You think you know her? You’re out of your depth, _counselor_. In more ways than one.”

“I know enough,” Matt was fighting against every violent instinct in him now, swallowing deep breaths that tasted like fire. “I know she lost so much of herself around you once before, enough for her to want to numb herself to the point of exhaustion for _your_ people, for _you_.” Bucky’s breaths were heaving now, and Matt suspected he was similarly holding back his own fists from connecting with his face. “I know she feels she doesn’t deserve love, not after what you did, so she fights against it, every second of every day.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky said through gritted teeth.

“Maybe not,” Matt couldn’t contain the morose smile from creeping on his face. “But you do. Tell me you don’t scrub your version of the story down to the point where it’s never your fault, I’m sure it makes you sleep so much better at night.”

Bucky’s hands finally found Matt’s vest collar with relentless fury, his hood falling off his head as Bucky’s erratic heaving breaths intensified at Matt’s dark sightless eyes, glittering with reserved hatred. “I told you,” Matt continued. “I know enough.”

“Buck,” Clint’s sharp voice from behind the broad-shouldered man made Matt breathe deeply, bringing him back from the Devil’s edge. “Let him go.”

Bucky similarly let out a sharp exhale trying to steady himself. “You’re wrong,” he snarled, pushing Matt away violently and making him stumble backwards as Bucky stalked away from the pair.

It took Matt a few seconds to realize that your steady breaths had ceased, how long ago, he didn’t know. Instead he only heard stifled gasps coming from within the freight, and with a frustrated shake of his head, he went off under the darkened sky to walk his shame away.


End file.
